Of Kisses and Quotes
by Manda-chan
Summary: Collection of written themes for the 101 Kisses and 50 Lovequotes LJ communities, for the pairing of FakirAhiru. Ratings and focus for each will vary.
1. Starlight

Author's Notes: This is a collection of themes I'm doing for two different LJ Communities: _101 Kisses _and _50 Lovequotes_, respectively. Pairing is Fakir/Ahiru for both claims (What can I say? I'm attached). I thought I might as well post them here, since the majority are fanfiction/drabbles based on each theme. Though they're not in order. I do whichever strikes inspiration at any given point of time. Ratings on each will probably range from G to PG-13. I'll mark each just in case.

Anyway, hope you enjoy. This will updated as I do more themes. Reviews are welcome and appreciated.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters are not mine.

(Notes for theme #1: Takes place after the anime ends. Ahiru has regained girl form and the two of them are shacked up in Fakir's cottage, outside of Kinkan Town. References made to Acts 6 and 8 in the anime.)

**(101 Kisses - Theme #1: Starlight ---- Rating: G) **

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_**Guiding Lights**_

_**-----------------**_

She had a habit of "disappearing" when his back was turned, even for a moment. It was like she _couldn't_ stand still. (Or perhaps, he mused, merely had the attention span of a four year old.) The duck-like girl was always moving, with only the light of curiosity to guide her wandering feet. It was no wonder she got herself into trouble so often. Whether it were getting lost, unknowingly immersing herself into things she shouldn't have, or pulling one of her clumsy stunts, that girl would manage to do it every single time.

It was one of Ahiru's...special talents.

Therefore, he should have expected that the second he gave his attention to the woodstove and lit the dying embers within, something would grab her attention in that short time span and effectively lead her out of his view.

Instead, when he whirled about to check on her, he found himself mildly surprised that the redhead was missing and the cottage door left slightly ajar. It was a frigid December night, afterall. Was she trying to catch a cold or something?

"Idiot," he mumbled in an agitated fashion, brushing a dark lock of hair from his face as he rose from his kneeling position and headed toward the open entrance.

Right before he pulled the wooden door fully open, her voice rang clear from just beyond his standing point.

"Fakir!" she called, tone loud enough to mirror that she believed him to still be inside the house. "Will you come outside for a minute?"

"What is it?" he questioned casually, the door creaking as he pushed it aside. "It's freezing out here," he noted with a shiver and immediately frowned at her lack of proper apparel for such conditions. "Couldn't you have at least grabbed a coat or something? You're so careless."

She ignored his commentary, pointing upward with undisguised delight. "Look, look!"

He gazed upward, not impressed in the least. "I don't see anything worth getting riled up about," he remarked, turning back around. "You'd better get back inside before catch something."

His leave was halted, in the form of one pale hand catching his own.

"You didn't even _look_," she accused with a frown of her own, pulling his taller form closer to hers.

He sighed, unable to resist her, and obediantly turned his emerald eyes skyward again. "They're just stars," he said after a moment.

"We don't get to see them very often, since the sky is usually too clouded," she argued. "And they're not _just_ stars, Fakir."

He raised one eyebrow, green orbs focusing on her. "Oh? What are they supposed to be then?"

Ahiru lifted her head higher, and for a moment, he was stunned by how pretty she looked when the moonlight kissed her skin.

"I think they're special lights," she mused with a smile. "They're like the gems Edel-san used to carry." She raised her free hand and pointed toward a very bright star in far north. "You see that one? That's Hope." Her finger trailed over the sky, picking each out one by one. "Over there is Courage, the red and white stars right next to each other. And Dream is the soft blue-ish one over here..."

He felt himself smile a little as she named them, one by one.

"You can't see them all the time," she continued, eyes reflecting the sparkling constellations, "but I know they'll always be up there somewhere. And I feel a little happier knowing that."

She fell silent then, and he tugged lightly on the hand still grasping his own. "Alright, Ahiru. That's enough stargazing for one night. You should get indoors and warm up by the fire."

"Okay, okay," she agreed finally, allowing him to usher her small figure beyond the threshold and into the waiting warmth.

Fakir cast "Hope" a final glance before closing the door soundly behind them.

Maybe they weren't just stars, afterall.


	2. Strawberry Jam

(Notes for Theme #5: Originally started as a simple sketch, but I added this drabble to it. And then I further colored the sketch and posted it on deviant art. It's my homepage link in my profile if you'd like to see the Fakir/Ahiru art piece for this theme. Sorry for the shortness, as well. I'm not used to writing drabbles, but I think it suits alright for this theme.)

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters are not mine.

**(101 Kisses - Theme #5: Strawberry Jam --- Rating: PG-13)**

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**_Cleaning_ **

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The gentle brush of her fingertips kissed the skin right below his neck as she leaned toward his face and carefully darted her small pink tongue out, proceeding to lick the area of red fruit from just below his cheekbone.

Her close proximity and bold, unexpected gesture made rapid heat rise like wildfire across his face as he stammered, "W-What the hell are you doing, Ahiru?"

"Cleaning," she said simply, further removing the remaining red stains in the same manner. "Didn't you notice you had strawberry goo stuck to the side of your face?"

"That's your fault!" he retorted immediately, still heavily flushed as she continued. "You were trying to force food on me while I was busy writing!"

"Then I'm fixing my mistake," she amended with an innocent smile, one final lick right dangerously close to his parted lips.

Sometimes he wondered just how innocent she really was.


	3. Impossible,stubborn

(Notes for Theme #12: This one is set well after the anime, by a few years. Again, Ahiru has her human form back and has been staying with Fakir. I tried to keep Fakir especially in character, while giving him and older feel at the same time. And this is rated PG-13 for a good reason. Pretty lengthy piece, as well. I'll leave it at that. **_If Asseritive-Fakir bothers you or is considered too OOC for your likes, pass this theme up_**.)

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters are not mine.

**(101 Kisses - Theme #12: Impossible; stubborn--- Rating: PG-13)**

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_**Distraction**_

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_SNAP_

The tip of the quill came clean off, broken from the pressure exerted upon it by a less-than-pleased dark-haired writer.

"Dammit," Fakir growled, whirling around in his chair to send an irritated glare to the one responsible for his now-busted quill. Ahiru was sitting innocently on the floor about ten paces behind him, legs spread and arms bent over her left leg. "Go make noise somewhere else!"

She frowned back, a small pout on her lips. "You have to be the only person alive who could find the sound of stretching so disturbing."

"Why are you even in here? Can't you see I'm trying to write?"

Her reddish-colored braid fell to one side as she tilted her head to smile in his direction. "I thought I would keep you company while I warmed up."

"I don't want company," he grumbled, fidgeting with another quill tip to replace his "accident". "You're ruining my concentration."

"What are you writing?"

"A story."

"About what?"

"Stop asking questions."

She challenged his glare, sticking her tongue out in retaliaton, like a child might.

Fakir blinked. He sometimes mused she still _was_ like a child in many ways. Ahiru was as petite as a young woman could get, still had those large and ever-curious sky blue eyes, still held mannerisms such as turning from a sobbing mess to being bright and energetic again at the drop of a hat, and vice versa. Even now, she was mimicking his expression in a very exaggerated way.

The ex-knight sighed. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

She immediately detected victory by the sound of that defeated breath and smiled. "You won't even know I'm here."

He gave her a very skeptical look and turned his attention back to the abandoned writing.

Ahiru paused before continuing her body warm-ups, her gaze finding the young man's back. The tail of his forest green hair was resting against his white shirt, the latter of which was a little wrinkled due to being scrunched against the back of the wooden chair. She felt her cheeks heat a little.

Somehow he looked remarkably attractive, even from what little she could actually see of him from her viewpoint below.

Realizing she was staring, the duck-girl muffled a "quack" behind her hand and immediately averted her gaze to the floor, hastily continuing her forgotten exercises. She kept in mind to go through the formations as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the easily-annoyed Fakir.

And he still hadn't written a single word, even though the new tip was resting securely on the quill, which was leaning against the paper's surface. However, the off-white paper was already stained in two different places, puddles of half-dried black ink blotching out the tan color.

Fakir dipped the writing utensil into the ink well for a third time, poising it over another clean area. The hand readied to write and then stilled in midair, just centimeters above the parchment surface.

He could hear her quickened breathing pattern from behind him, clear enough that it was as though she were close enough to be breathing right into his ear. And the image of her performing such an action came unbidden to his mind, teasing him before he could prevent it.

Ink fell from the quill, soundless drops landing and slowly spreading their dark color into the grains.

Another soft noise. An unidentifiable sound, like a cross between a whine and moan. Not at all uncommon during stretching and taxing your muscles.The ex-knight could imagine how she looked just then, arms bent in a long arc, expression taught with determination and focus, strands of red hair falling loose from their bond and clinging to her ivory neck. He swallowed.

_Drip, drip, drip._

Fakir dropped the quill down to the desk and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly finding it a lot warmer than it had been a few minutes beforehand.

She froze, startled by the abrupt and sharp movement, but when he made no move to reprimand her, Ahiru diligently continued her stretching. Her blue eyes glanced up at him every few moments, perhaps unconciously. She thought he seemed a little over-stressed for just some simple writing.

Further unbuttoning the top two clasps on his shirt in attempt to cool himself down, Fakir reached for the fallen feather-quill and repositioned it to the waiting blank area on the paper.

He paused, and his ears caught wind of a particularly sharp intake of breath from Ahiru. As if triggered by the soft sound, the quilltip hit the paper and streaked one large, jagged black line across the page.

"**Damn it!**"

The yell, accompanied by the crash of Fakir's chair as it clattered to the floorboards, abruptly startled the unsuspecting Ahiru out of her practices, causing her to fall backward in surprise. She caught herself with her arms against the wood behind her just before she could hit the floor and sent a baffled stare to Fakir's back.

As far as she could tell, she'd been quiet as a mouse. What had set him off?

Fakir was still facing away from her, gripping the edges of his desk with both hands. "Are you _incapable_ of being silent?"

His words were calm and barely spoken above a whisper, but she felt an underlying lack of patience in them and swallowed.

"You're impossible," he continued, fingers curling and gripping the wooden desk's unsanded edge. "I can't get a moment's peace when you're in the same room."

"I was making as little noise as possible," she offered meekly.

The redhead nearly jumped when he turned sharply to face her, as though provoked to action by her words. And for a moment, he just stared at her in silence. Then his brows knit together, expression growing dark and becoming further shadowed by his long bangs as he took a step toward her leotard-clad figure.

"Do you have _any_ idea just how distracting you are?"

The speech was soft and even, but she somehow felt like he had just issued a threat instead of a question.

"Fakir, don't get angy," she blinked her broad azure eyes up at him in growing remorse. "I didn't really think you were serious about my presence messing up your writing."

He didn't reply, but instead took another couple of paces closer, dark green eyes still focused upon her face. She rose to her feet. "I thought you were just being your usual grumpy and irritable self. You know, like when you call me an idiot daily, and..."

The ex-knight's approach hadn't ceased during her talk and Ahiru was forced to start backing up to keep the distance. "-And when you insult my cooking and lack of grace, you, you know you're...you..." she trailed off, getting lost in his intense emerald gaze.

Her retreat was cut short when her back hit the wall and she bit the edge of her lip nervously, feeling as though she were being sucked into the depths of his dark eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fakir raised a hand to her face and tilted her small chin up to meet his gaze more directly. "It's your fault for distracting me," he replied huskily.

And without warning, his free hand slipped around Ahiru's waist and hoisted her lithe form into the air, cradling her body up against him as his mouth claimed hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise before it could even leave her lips. His kiss was strong and wet, leaving her no room to catch her breath or retaliate against his demand. She felt herself give in, drowning in his touch and responding slowly with inexperience.

It was rare for him to show such an emotion or behave in this manner. Already they'd been living together in his small lakeside cabin for a couple years. He was usually quiet and withdrawn, faithfully writing the Kinkan villagefolk's stories as he said he'd do. He had written a story for her too, of course. She hadn't forgotten that.

But the way he was kissing her now, the hand held tight against her waist, and the other pressed against her cheek, seemed to speak of some hidden desire or longing he'd been holding back. There was unspoken _desperation_ in his touch.

When had he felt something like this for her? Ahiru was puzzled. Even now as her own hands rose, one wrapping around his neck, the other brushing gentle fingertips against the fabric covering his chest, she could not recall any indications of him feeling more than friendship toward her.

Any interactions between them had either consisted of petty fights and bantering, or the calming silence of just enjoying one another's presence by a crackling fire on a cold night. Even when she had insisted on talking with him, or giving his shoulders a good rub after a particularly long period of writing, he never responded in any way beyond the "Fakir" way. Nothing like...

Nothing like _this_.

This was sheer insanity.

All she'd been doing beforehand were some simple warm-ups before she practiced ballet. Making as little noise as she could. Not even _touching_ him.

True, she'd been adamant on not leaving the room when he'd asked, but this method of retaliation didn't fit the Fakir she knew.

The train of her rapid thoughts was shattered when he suddenly parted his lips to release hers. Ahiru's voice longed to speak the questions of her mind, but the loss of contact lasted for no more than a second, just enough time to take a much-needed breath, before he dove in again, searching, tasting, and burning the very surface of her swollen lips. His significantly taller figure had also managed to effectively imprison her between himself the barrier behind her.

Ahiru couldn't see it before, but she could _feel_ it now, to the very tips of her airborne toes. Fakir felt strongly for her. What his words would never say was being spoken by his body instead.

How could she have been so blind?

The quiet, intense stares, the abrupt and often rude retractions from her laying her hands on him in any manner...

It made sense now. He was refusing to acknowledge, even to himself, that he felt anything for her. He had pushed her away and become a slave to his writing to avoid having to face it.

The invisible hand clamping over her heart loosened its grip. He'd really been shrugging off her affections and kind words due to his own stubborness, and not because he disliked her.

It filled Ahiru with a joy she couldn't express in words. Not that words mattered anymore. Smiling against his lips, she pushed back to meet him, the hand behind his head curling up into his dark locks of hair.

Her actions would speak for her as well, she decided. She wasn't afraid anymore.

Fakir pulled away from her returned pressure, breaking the contact. Not realizing she'd closed her eyes, the blue orbs reopened. His cheeks were flushed from exertion as he stared down upon her, a mixture of conflicting emotions whirling in the depths of his eyes.

She blinked back at him, innocently bewildered.

Fakir's expression immediately twisted to one of severe annoyance, but his grip upon her did not slacken. On the contrary, his fingers found a more secure hold around her tiny waist.

"Well, are you going to leave me to my business now or do you want further _persuasion_?"

Her pale skin regained its red hue from the implications of the question, mixed with the breathy masculinity of his tone. Now that the time came for words, she found herself flustered. "E-Eh? Well, I... If you want," she stammered awkwardly, wriggling her feet in midair. "Just let me down and I'll go ahead and-"

"On second thought, I think you deserve a little more _punishment_," he interrupted fluidly.

The redhead could only squeak in surprise as he swiftly carried her small form to the bedside and deposited her on top, crawling over her and quirking one eyebrow in a suggestive manner. The ghost of a smile rested on his lips as he bent down to her face again, long darkgreen strands of hair tickling her skin. "Now be a good girl and accept your punishment, Ahiru."

And she did, relishing in the returned feeling of his warm mouth enveloping hers completely.

If Fakir's idea of punishment had changed from locking people in library storage rooms to _this_, then perhaps she would make it a habit to annoy him more often.


	4. Photograph

(Notes for Theme #15: I took into account that in the timeframe and era Princess Tutu seems to be set in, there was no such thing as cameras. So that proposed an interesting idea into how to handle this theme...and I went with it. --- Later it was pointed out to me that cameras were indeed used in the series (Act 3), but I decided to keep this piece the way it was, regardless. So I'm plenty aware of that slip-up/assumption. No need to point it out. I found this idea more fun than a simple camera picture, anyway.)

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters are not mine.

**(101 Kisses - Theme #15: Photograph--- Rating: PG)**

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_**Portrait**_

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He was certainly used to her asking strange things of him, ranging from performing a pas de duex through the kitchen one night while she was cooking, to reading poetry for her when she had trouble sleeping.

But this...

"Come on, Fakir!" she tugged his arm and the delight shining through her blue eyes was impossible to miss. "We don't want to be late for our portrait!"

...was bizzare.

They stood outside a quaint and rather weathered-down building. There were frames hanging in the front windows, each containing a very detailed sketch portrait of various families, couples, and single people.

He glanced distastefully at his own attire. Puffed out sleeves of blue and black, accented with gold lining that formed intricate patterns down the sleeves and front of the long coat, ruffled white neck piece trailing out from under the jacket's collar, and matching dark pants with cuffs of gold hanging over the simple black shoes.

..._Why_ had he agreed to this?

Once glance upon her was all it took to remember. She was dressed in soft blues, creams, and white that accented the salmon-pink hue of her long hair (which was flowing freely without the binds of a braid for once), looking every bit like a princess from fairytales, complete with the tiny silver hairpiece on the crown of her head. And the radiant smile she graced him with spoke volumes of her appreciation.

Fakir knew that deep down, he could not say "no" to that face.

Thus, here they were.

And just as the ex-knight reached for the handle, the wooden door opened from within, revealing a middle-aged man who was grinning broadly, looking from boy to girl and back again. "Mr. Fakir and Miss Ahiru, I presume?"

Fakir gave a curt nod in the affirmative, Ahiru siddling up next to him to get a better look at the man.

"My name is Pagin," he introduced with a short bow, and ushered them inside. "Please follow me to my little studio and we can get started."

The inside of the shop had the same "old" feeling to it that the outer appearance did. The walls were worn, the floor was dusty, and aside from portraits hanging almost everywhere, there were also a few antiques strategically placed about.

However, once entering the artist's studio, there was quite a bit of improvement, appearance-wise. Various chairs and seats were placed throughout the room, each with curtains of various colors and textures hanging in the background. And the room was very clean, unlike the rest of the shop.

"Now then," the elderly man started, taking a seat before his canvas. "What kind of portrait did you have in mind?"

Fakir raised an inquiring eyebrow toward Ahiru, who looked up at him sheepishly and shrugged. He frowned. "You didn't even give this any thought?"

"I did," she amended quickly. "But I thought it would be better to discuss it with you."

He rolled his dark eyes. "Fine time you chose to discuss this."

Pagin cleared his throat. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I draw couples a lot. Just do whatever you feel comfortable with and pretend I'm not even here."

Fakir and Ahiru's faces flushed in unison. "I-It's not like that," the ex-knight cleared hastily. "We're just friends."

Unseen to the dark-haired writer, Ahiru's expression dulled slightly, but she said nothing.

The elderly artist raised an eyebrow at the pair, running a hand through his graying hair. "Really now? Usually my eyes are never wrong in that sense, but if you're sure..." He trailed off, then sighed. "Well, have you decided on your positions yet?"

"Um, do you have an suggestions?" the petite blue-eyed girl asked Pagin timidly.

He placed a hand beneath his chin in thought, studying the two. "Well, you have a pretty significant height difference between you," he deduced. "And I've heard you two are from the Kinkan Ballet Academy." Ahiru nodded and he continued, "I could take a stab and guess you've done a pas de deux or two. Perhaps you could find a pose in something like that?"

The redhead girl poked her fingers together nervously, casting a glance to her stoic companion, who was expressionless. "Well, what do you think of that, Fakir?"

"I don't care," he said simply. "Let's just get this over with."

"You're such a grouch," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she forced a smile quickly. "So what should we do?"

He ran a hand through his darkgreen bangs, expression growing more irritated. "You can't decide _anything_, can you?"

Ahiru's eyebrows drew together. "I can too!" she challenged. "I just thought it would be-"

"Forget it," he cut her off, taking her by surprise when he pulled her in front of him, and laid his hands down on her shoulders. "Will this do?"

Cheeks tinted pink from the feeling of his warm hands on her shoulders, she raised one of her own hands to cover his, turning toward him slightly in the process and leaning back against his chest to look up at him.

"Oh, that's a very nice pose!" Pagin praised from his viewpoint. "If you can just hold that for a few minutes..."

The middle-aged portrait-sketcher started drawing immediately, the scritch-scractch of his utensils echoing through the small enclosure.

Ahiru found herself unable to tear her gaze from Fakir's dark orbs, which seemed to be alight with a more gentle luster than usual, despite his lack of facial expression. She felt a tingling sensation upon her shoulders as his fingertips moved ever-so-slightly to brush across the open skin beneath. Her cheeks grew warm, eyelids just barely falling over the top of her azure pools.

"Excuse me," There was a light cough from the other side of the room, but neither had taken notice of it, completely lost in their own world. Pagin cleared his throat loudly. "Pardon my interruption, but the portrait is finished."

Fakir's hands dropped like they were filled with lead, freeing Ahiru's shoulders, and found their way across his chest as he averted his gaze.

Further flushed from embarrassment, the redhead gave an apoligetic smile to the elderly artist. "Sorry about that," she said awkwardly.

Pagin smiled warmly, his knowing gaze travelling between the two of them. "No harm done, so think nothing of it," he assured. "But I must say, you both complement each other so very well. I enjoyed drawing the two of you together."

Ahiru chuckled, tucking one arm behind her head. "Well, I don't know about that, but thanks for taking the time to do a portrait."

The middle-aged artist rose from his seat and took the picture off the canvas, making his way toward the exit. "I'll just frame this for you and you can be on your way."

The freckled redhead nodded and then turned toward the window, finding it hard to face Fakir at the moment. However, the silence in the air was getting too heavy for her to stand. "So...that wasn't so bad, huh?" she ventured, rubbing the toe of her shoe on the floor.

"It was _hell_," he clarified, causing her to whirl around in shock. "Having to look at your face for ten minutes straight. I thought my eyes were going to burn out of their sockets."

She growled, itching to walk over and stomp on his foot. "How can you say such nasty thi-"

"And here you go," Pagin interreupted, striding back into the room. He held the portrait out toward her, and Ahiru, anger forgotten, eagerly came forward to take it.

That is, until Fakir blocked her path and accepted it instead. "Better let me handle this," he said, taking the large framed picture into his hands. "That walking disaster will probably drop it," he added, casting a glance toward Ahiru. She glared back, feeling the re-ignited urge to do him bodily harm.

"Thanks for stopping by and accepting my services," Pagin bowed. "I would be delighted to do another for the two of you in the future."

Fakir gave one short nod in thanks and headed straight for the door, feet moving very quickly toward the exit. Ahiru paused to give the elderly sketcher another bow of thanks before sprinting to catch up to her irritable companion.

And to her displeasure, throughout the entire promenade back, Fakir was refusing to let her even _look_ at the picture.

"You can see it when we get back," he stated in a no-nonsense manner. "And not before then."

She puffed her cheeks out and stalked after him, making various mocking faces at his back the whole way.

Once they'd finally returned, she immediately bounced up to his side, fingers groping for the picture frame. "Let me seeee," she whined.

"Fine," he agreed, laying the frame gingerly into her waiting hands. "Just don't break it."

Too excited to see the picture, she spared him a retort and brought the frame into her vision. Blue eyes went wide with amazement as they travelled across the glass-covered canvas. "Whoa," she near-whispered. "The likeness is incredible. And you're actually _smiling_!"

The statement caught Fakir offguard. "Smiling? _What_?" He came to her side, glancing down at the picture from over her shoulder. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "There's no smile. You're seeing things."

"Your eyes are smiling," she challenged, gazing at the picture fondly.

"Hmph. That's the artist's doing, not mine," he stated simply, lowering into one of the wooden chairs.

She ignored his retort and propped the picture frame up on the end table. Coming up behind him, she placed one small hand to rest on his shoulder. He turned around in surprise from the unexpected gesture and she quickly leaned in to brush her lips across his cheekbone lightly. Pulling back, she smiled with a glow as soft as a candle's luminesence. "Thank you, Fakir."

He crossed his arms and shifted away from her. "Don't thank me for pointless things."

She caught the telltale redness to his face that betrayed his words and grinned, crossing the room to pick up the drawing once more.

"You are smiling," she repeated quietly to herself, passing a finger over the glass on his sketched face. "I can't see it, but I know I felt it."


	5. Watch You Sleep

(Notes for Theme #5: This one kind of just flowed as I was writing it. As most of these drabbles and small fics, this takes place after the end of the anime, Ahiru already having regained human form. Typical, I know. But I've got 151 of these to write, so give me a break.)

Rating: G

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters are not mine.

**( 50 Lovequotes - Quote #5: "_Find someone who will stay awake just to watch you sleep."_)**

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_**Midnight Whispers**_

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"Hey...Fakir?"

He looked up from the inked papers on the desk before him, the lone candle casting shadows across his face. "You're still not asleep? It's late, you know."

Ahiru gazed at him through half-lidded cerulean eyes from her bundled position within his bed. "I'm not tired."

"Nonsense."

She averted her vision toward the window. "Why...did you come for me?"

He blinked in surprise. _Why_? How was he supposed to answer that?

"You risked yourself to rescue me from that wolf," she pressed as she rose to a seated position, blankets bunching up in front of her. "It was dangerous and you could have gotten seriously hurt!"

Fakir crossed his arms. "You're one to talk. I still can't believe you were stupid enough to go out walking in the forest alone at this time of night. What kind of idiot would do something so careless?"

The redhead sighed. "Well whatever reason you had, thank you," she said softly. "For rescuing me, carrying me back, and bandaging the wound on my arm." She gingerly ran a finger over the tight wrapping on said appendage. "I'm sorry to cause you all this trouble, Fakir."

"Don't worry about it," he replied nonchalantly. "Get some rest."

She curled a small hand over the sheet. "What about you? You must be tired, too. And here I am taking up your bed after-"

"Will you stop making a fuss already?" He interrupted sharply, turning away from her and glaring at nothing in particular.

Her expression turned remorseful. "Now you're angry..."

"Stop talking and go to sleep."

Casting one more troubled glance in his direction, she obediently flopped back onto the bed.

'_Why is Fakir so impossible to read?' _she wondered, gazing at the ceiling. A brief flash of him crying against the tree out back of Charon's shop crossed her mind, unbidden. She had witnessed the incident in her duck form back when she had still thought him to be a dangerous person. '_He only seems to express himself truly when he's all alone.'_

Her gaze flickered over to his figure again, still sitting quietly by his oak desk. She was slightly surprised to see that he was watching her.

"Can't sleep?" he ventured, catching her eye movement. "Would it help if I blew the candle out?"

'_Fakir is a nice person_,' she thought, studying his poker face. '_Why does he try to hide it?'_

Taking her silence as an affirmative, he swiftly blew the solitary flame out and shrouded the room in darkness.

Ahiru could smell the remnants of the smoke as they drifted in thin strands through the scarce amount of moonlight shining through the single window. And even with the light gone, she could still make out his shadow, unmoving from that same position in his chair.

Perhaps one day, he'd feel comfortable enough to show his true face to her openly.

With that thought, she closed her eyes and allowed the bliss of sleep to take over her senses.

----------------------

Fakir could see the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the bedsheets. It was comforting to know and to see with his own eyes that she was alive and breathing.

When he heard her frightened scream from beyond the cottage earlier that evening, he had been so afraid. Afraid that something had happened, that she was hurt, or worse. He had instinctively grabbed his old sword from behind the door and run toward the startled cry as fast as his feet would carry him.

The Knight, whether with sword, quill, or whatever other power he could conjure, would protect his Princess. Even since Drosselmeyer's story had ended, he still felt the need to protect her and keep her from harm, whether he was a knight anymore or not. He would ensure her safety with his own hand.

Thankfully, he had made it in time. He spied her hold on her right arm and realized the freckled redhead girl had been attacked, and her attacker was still present, a mere few feet away, fangs bared threateningly. He furiously lunged at the animal, sword bent back for a direct blow to its large body. However, the wolf, discovering the impending danger, had fled instantly and disappeared into the forest foilage.

The anger still coursing through his system was forgotten when his eyes landed on her small form, standing shakily against a tree, unshed tears shining in her luminous blue eyes.

The ex-knight dropped the sword to the forest floor with dull clatter.

He never wanted to see that terrified look on her face _ever_ again.

Without speaking a single word, he'd gone directly to her side, lifted her trembling body into his arms, and headed straight back to his cottage.

And now...

Now it was over. Ahiru was nestled comfortably into his bed and far from harm's way.

He wished she'd be more conscious of the danger she put herself into when she did such things. It was true that she was originally just a duck and a hopeless one to begin with, but perhaps she would learn with his guidance and direction.

"Fakir..."

He started violently out of his contemplation, nearly falling out of his chair at the sound of her whispered call. When his eyes focused, he noted her eyes were still closed, breathing still even and steady.

She said his name in her sleep?

The dark-haired writer felt his face warm at the implications. '_Rubbish_,' he assured himself, mentally shaking it off. _'If she were to say anyone's name in her sleep, it would be Mytho's.'_

He finally rose from his seated position, legs heavy from their idle posture, and walked toward the window. Leaning against the frame, his emerald eyes found her again, as though drawn back by an invisible magnet. He could see her quite clearly from his new position, right down to the freckles that dusted across her nose. Her hair, normally twined into a long braid was loose and laying in disarray across her face and the pillow, one particular lock beside her lips fluttering from her gentle breathing pattern.

"...akir..."

He blinked from his vantage point. Had she just..._again_?

Before he realized it, he found himself standing beside the bed and gazing down at her serenely sleeping form. Carefully, he lowered himself to sit on the edge beside her and reached one hand out brush the fiery locks from her face, further trailing his fingertips down the side of her pale cheek and gently caressing the smooth skin.

"I'm here, Ahiru," he spoke softly to her sleeping form. "I will always stay by your side."

And perhaps he was imagining things, but he thought he saw her lips curve into a tiny smile.


	6. Chains, Bonds

Taking a small break from writing "Running Ink" (which I have started the second chapter of), to do one or two of these and get my writing muse going again. I hope you can pardon the fractured writing, here. I wanted to try a different style for this theme, and my writing in general has been a little disfunctional lately.

Erm...and I'm sorry in advance for all the angst? XD; Like I mentioned, it's worded and flows in a strange way. I hope that's not too confusing. Also, their names were not used, but you should already know the pairing anyway.

I further apologize for whatever you might consider OOC, as well. I really pushed emotion and heavy feeling in this. But hey, I've got a lot of these to write. You don't have to read them if it bothers you.

101 Kisses: Theme #60 - Chains, Bonds

Rating: PG - PG-13

-------

**Real**

**--------**

He'd always known there was something different about her, from the first day she reared that interfering little red head of hers.

What he hadn't known, was how different she would be to him. How different from Mytho, Charon, Rachael...everyone.

And the truth was, he wanted to blame it on her. To claim that she'd infected him, cast a spell on him with those wide and bright blue eyes, cracked his armor with smiles unexpected and unwarranted.

Changed him.

And he could have stopped it. He could have prevented it from ever happening.

If he had really wanted to.

Trusting her came more easily than he'd thought, once she'd proved herself worthy of that trust. He had opened the door just a crack, a miniscule entrance, and her tiny form slipped through it with ease.

Even then he'd still been wary of just how close he allowed her to come. There were parts of the room he did not allow her glow to reach.

But once he had granted permission for her soft light to enter the room, he grew comfortable with its presence. The luster of her radiance grew brighter and warmer and yet he was content to let it do so. He didn't fight it, or push it away.

At least, not until it slowly began to spread into the area he'd kept hidden and guarded.

His heart had been darkened by loss, by anger, and by fear. They molded together to form a black casing with a syrupy, sticky surface. He clung to it without looking at or acknowledging the binding tendrils. It was carefully shielded from the view of even those closest to him, where he buried it inside himself. And he put to rest, along with every part of himself connected to it. A grave with no marker.

And then the dirt covering was scattered, layer by layer. She brushed over it and touched upon it with kind, gentle fingertips. A healing, unearthing caress.

Even as he retracted from her, snarled at her unwelcome intrusion, and further barred those lost pieces of himself, secrets, and gaping holes from her view, though it had frustrated her, she had not turned away or given up.

She saw the tiny truth, wedged deep within his razor-sharp words and hard tone: Beneath the scowls and harsh words, deep down, he wanted to be understood, to be set free from the chains of his past. And whether her enlightenment to that fact were from seeing his tears or breaking apart his mask, he wasn't sure. But she had done it, before he even realized it could be done.

Each of her changing outward appearances had affected him.

He embraced a small, yellow-feathered creature in his first broken moment: A mere duckling that sympathized with him and cried for him.

He dove over a cliff in blind panic for the safety of a falling redheaded girl: A nuisance, an eyesore, a klutz, and a friendly, trusting smile he never earned.

He faced and conquered his worst fear to rescue a stranded princess: An elegant, idealistic ballerina, former threat to his cause, and a helping hand in his times of need.

But whether duck, girl, or graceful princess, what was inside remained the same: Her heart - A light of hope, warmth, compassion, and love.

She was something he was certain, and had accepted, was untouchable by his hands.

But as long as he could always see her light and know it was there with him, it didn't matter.

He decided that he wanted to protect her - Not a protection that stemmed from duty or promises, as so much of his life had been focused upon, not just on a whim, and not even to repay what she had unknowingly done for him.

Simply and wholly because he _wanted_ to.

And yet, he wasn't sure exactly when or how it grew to something _more_ than that.

When had her smiles first begun to make his heart beat unnaturally within his chest?

Why had the thought of her being in love with someone else tugged in an irksome manner just on the edge of his mind?

Why had the sight of her, laying battered and injured on the mist-covered ground, made him feel he was not only a failure in his role, but a failure as himself?

How could she affect him in ways he could never be affected before?

When had it started to _matter_?

_It didn't matter_. Or so he had stubbornly told himself.

She loved Mytho. She would always love Mytho. She was destined to love the prince, and the prince alone.

He could only offer his aid and support to her cause, mirrored with his own. He could only do what he had the power to. Nothing more, nothing less.

And though unable to manifest the power to write Mytho's story, he discovered that he could bring _her _story to life with words. Only hers.

She became his writer's inspiration. His muse. It was her feelings and will gave his writing _life_. And he did not take it for granted.

The story continued. And something happened she and he did not expect.

Mytho had chosen Rue. Fairytale swan princess was forsaken, and her chance at happiness turned out to be nothing more than an illusion. Fake - Just like the little crown upon her head and graceful pink toe shoes upon her feet.

The duck-girl was left in the princess's hazy shadow, unwilling to let go of her final connection and selfish desire in the shape of her pendant.

He had helplessly watched her sink into the darkness of despair, his own hand, his own blood betraying him. And taking panicked action, he had stabbed the offending appendage and hurried to claim her back from the lake's depths before she was lost forever.

And he found her, deflated and defeated in the enchanted waters.

He consoled her guilt-ridden sobs, lifted her up, and they danced together. A final pas de deux. A _real_ pas de deux.

_"I'll just become a regular bird again, won't I?" _

He could hear the true words through her tears, through her hands delicately shaking within his own: _I will be alone. I will be forgotten._

But she was not alone and she was not forgotten. She was in his heart. The door was shut and the light remained within. He could not, and would not remove her.

They rose from despair. She let go of Tutu and of Mytho once and for all.

And the story was brought to a happy conclusion through his writing and her dancing.

Together.

But their roles were then finished along with the tale itself.

The town was freed, Prince and Princess lived happily ever after, duck and boy were forgotten.

They were not a fairytale. And they were not destined, like Mytho and Rue.

Their relationship had been rocky and awkward, full of misinterpretations, embarrassment, hurtful words, regrets, chances, reluctant partnership, understanding, courageous efforts, sacrifice, acceptance, change, growth...

Balance. Unbalance.

A bond built by their own hands; their own hearts.

She needed him. And he needed her.

"I will stay by your side forever," he had promised.

It wasreal.

------------------------

Lithe arms wrapped tightly around him, streaked and shining pale cheeks dampening the cloth covering his chest.

"I was scared," she whimpered, muffled by his shirt. "Scared that you would forget."

His own embrace tightened around her small form, pulling her closer, face burying into her messy red locks.

"I doubted you," she further sobbed, trembling hands rising to clasp handfuls of dark blue cloth. "I was selfish. I thought you would leave and go on to live without me."

There was a long pause. She tried to push away from him, but he stubbornly held her in place with firm hands.

"I don't deserve this!" she protested, struggling in the warmth of his embrace. "Turn me back!"

"No."

"You have to!"

"I won't."

She pulled back to face him, an angry, tear-stained pout smeared across her features, strands of red hair matted to the skin. "You can't do this."

His face betrayed no emotion. "I already did."

Her eyebrows drew together, bottom lip trembling. "Y-You-!" And she thrashed again, pushing against him violently. "I don't belong this way! I'm not human!"

"Deny it."

Her action halted and she blinked, puzzled. "What do you-"

The green eyes gazed fiercely into hers. "Deny that you want this."

She inhaled sharply, stared into his dark eyes, and released her breath. "I don't want this."

"Deny that you want this," he repeated, louder.

"I don't want this."

"Deny it!"

"I...don't want this..!"

"DENY IT!"

"I DON'T WANT THIS!"

_It mattered. It mattered more than anything._

She didn't even have time to blink when his face crashed against hers, his lips covering her own, but she caught herself before the force sent her backwards, and pressed automatically toward him to return the desperate pressure.

Arms wound around his neck. Arms wrapped around her waist. Thought and doubt melted into nothing.

All that existed was this raw, untamed jumble of emotions flaming between them.

They were selfish with one another. Needing and wanting. Giving and taking.

Balance. Unbalance.

She finally pulled back and he released her, ink-stained fingers rising to run along the curve of her face.

"Liar," he accused immediately.

She frowned in return, cheeks pink. "Jerk."

"Idiot."

Her mouth opened to retort, but the words were lost when he abruptly embraced her, lips falling to her ear, breath warm against the skin. She clutched his shirt impulsively and his hand tightened around the small of her back.

"Stay by my side forever," he whispered.

And again she broke, crying into shoulder.

It didn't have to be easy. It didn't have to be perfect. It didn't have to make sense.

It was real.

They had each other.

And nothing else mattered.


	7. Who?

Stubbornly, I insisted with myself that I keep writing, even though I'm not sure my words are meshing and flowing the way I want. I'm still feeling strangely inspired to write, despite how different these styles end up becoming.

Ahiru's point of view, this time. And many references made to numerous things that happen in the series (up through Act 10), in this piece. This one also sort of goes with the one in chapter six, in terms of series event reflections followed by something that takes place much later.

Hope you enjoy this theme. And thank you for the feedback! It's very much appreciated.

**101 Kisses - Theme #33: Who? ---- Rating: PG**

**---------**

**More**

**---------**

Before she knew no more than his name, Ahiru knew he was someone who commanded silent respect.

Fakir was an excellent dancer, had concentration and focus that did not fault, and he was confident. Features iced, expression grim, eyes dark and shadowed - He didn't reveal much.

_'Was there more?' _she had wondered.

Many of the female students giggled and fawned over him from the sidelines. She couldn't understand it. There was no warmth in his expression at all, no welcome in his stance. Even his dancing, while powerful, was strictly a combination of mastered steps and moves. What was there to like when he showed nothing?

He was closed.

What could they see in him? Just the tall, dark-haired boy on the outside? Was that enough?

It wasn't, to her.

Ahiru was drawn instead to the gentle, doe-eyed Mytho. Though somewhat like Fakir in his lack of expression, there was something in him that called to her: A silent voice, a plead, a tiny whisper for something inexplicable.

He was vulnerable. He was lonely.

She wanted to see him smile. A real smile.

And to pursue that wish, she crossed Fakir's path to get closer to the white-haired prince.

More of the scowling mystery then came to light: Fakir was insensitive, rude, bossy, and over-bearing.

Immediately, she did not like him. And the next encounter only strengthened the dislike, expanding the feeling like a balloon.

But despite that, again she wondered, _'Is there more to this guy...?' _

And there was. But nothing _good_, as she soon discovered. Another run-in with Fakir revealed him as cruel and violent, as well as an arrogant and condescending jerk that acted like he knew everything.

Ahiru didn't want to know any more about his twisted and nasty personality after the encounter in the darkened corridor of the library. Only his motives were a part of him with any slight interest to her now.

Mytho was her goal. He needed her help to regain his heart and she did everything in her power to bring him back to life with his lost emotions.

But incessantly, the towering shadow would interfere, insult her, threaten her, and force her backwards.

Fakir was a barrier, a special one: A shield fully armed and prepared to physically remove and fight off any intruder. Defense and offense expertly molded together.

There was nothing in his eyes but hard malice. Anything she had thought she might find in their depths didn't exist, once she saw into the green orbs for herself.

How could someone have a heart so black? It stunned her.

And ironically, as soon as she was sure there was nothing good about him, something unexpected happened.

He smiled. A real smile.

At _her_.

Perhaps it was true that he hadn't _known_ at the time that the little yellow duckling he'd rescued (by smuggling her out under his shirt, of all things) was her, but it stirred a funny feeling inside.

_'Somehow, he wasn't like the usual Fakir.'_

Of course, she denied having thought it mere seconds later. She'd seen with her own eyes what he was like. Maybe he just liked little animals. Big deal. He still treated everything else like it belonged beneath the sole of shoe.

And yet, that funny feeling inside nagged at her conscience every once in a awhile. It seemed like he was still hiding something.

Curiosity reignited, and again, she found herself wanting to know, _'Is there more?'_

Was there something else, hidden under those layers of cold ice and bitter anger in his eyes? Did the smile really mean nothing? Who was the real Fakir?

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken long to get another clue.

They crossed again a mere day later.

He'd gotten angry, and slashed at her with a piece of broken glass. Mytho, who had also been present at the scene, came quickly to her aid, held Fakir back as he shouted at her, and told her to run. And with one moment of hesitation, one brief meeting of blue and green, she turned and fled out the door.

It wasn't until later, when she'd shrunk back into a bird and found herself unable to change back, that she realized her pendant was missing. The one thing she needed above all else was gone, thanks to the jerk who'd slashed her pendant off. And without it, she was and could be nothing more than a little yellow duck.

To further her streak of bad luck, she soon discovered Fakir had confiscated her red gem, having found the pendant before she could. And after failing to pull the jewelry from his grasp, she was forced to follow him the whole day, waiting for another opportunity to get the necklace back.

However, with only the intention of getting her pendant back, she hadn't been expecting to learn anything about him in the process.

And following him to the town's blacksmith shop opened a door that revealed quite a bit.

The first surprise, is that he, too, was connected to the story of "The Prince and Raven". Fakir was the knight from the original tale, reborn. And he'd made a vow, when he was but a child, to protect the heartless prince who could not protect himself.

He and his foster father fought over past versus present, right there before her eyes, harsh words thrown back and forth between them at rapid speed. The blacksmith lost his temper, struck his adopted son, and Fakir, visibly shaken, immediately dashed out the house. Ahiru followed.

She found him by a small pond outside, leaning against a tree. And then witnessed something she never imagined she would see: Fakir was _crying_.

That strange feeling inside of her stirred to life again, but this time, it did not fade or disappear from her heart.

She'd been blind to the truth. Just like the girls who liked and admired him for what they saw on the outside, she had judged him purely by his open actions, and thus fallen prey to his well-constructed illusion. She hadn't seen past the mask.

There was more to Fakir.

He was vulnerable. He was isolated.

And while he'd become very skilled at hiding everything he didn't want others to see deep beneath the surface, this moment of weakness proved that he could still feel. Unlike Mytho, he could feel any and every emotion.

Alone, he carried all of his own burdens.

_'I see a truth now,' _she'd thought, jumping onto the bank before him, his own sadness and helplessness mirrored in her tearful blue eyes. _'This is part of the _real_ Fakir.'_

"You're seeing me in a pretty disgraceful state," he'd said upon spotting her down below. And again, unexpectedly, he had smiled, right through his tears. "Are you crying for me?"

_'Yes,' _she thought. '_Your heart isn't black. I misunderstood you. I'm sorry.'_

Then he had wordlessly knelt before her small feathered form, picked her up from the grassy ground, and wrapped her into his arms.

_'Is there more than even this?' _Ahiru had distantly wondered yet again, closing her eyes to the warmth of his embrace.

There were no heart shards to track down and return, in Fakir's case. He wasn't like Mytho. The reborn knight had his feelings already. They existed, locked somewhere inside of him, hidden from view and buried deep within.

Maybe it wasn't really her place or right to think and act on such a thought, but she felt that she could unearth the real Fakir, piece by piece.

He wouldn't cooperate with her. She already knew that. It was bound to be a rough road. And she accepted that.

But there was _more_.

And she wanted to know.

---------------------

The giggling redhead hung upside down from the tree's limb, swinging back and forth. Her long braid bounced to and fro with her body's movement and the light summer breeze.

An apple fell from the shaking branch she was dangling over, landing with a thunk upon the head of the form sitting quietly beneath the tree.

"Ow!" came an indignant grunt, followed by an irritated gaze that traveled to the innocent girl rocking in the tree. "Why the hell are you throwing fruit at me?"

She laughed. "It fell on its own."

"And just happened to fall directly onto my head," he replied sarcastically, cradling the offending object in one hand, and rubbing the point of impact with his other.

"Yup!" she answered cheerfully. "I guess something is trying to tell you to stop brooding over your writing."

Fakir scowled. "At least I'm doing something constructive with my time."

"One day your face is going to freeze like that," she mused aloud.

"Better than being reborn as a monkey," he retorted, placing his paper and pen on the ground and rising to his feet. He tossed the apple back and forth between his hands, arching an eyebrow at the swinging figure. "You're going to lose your balance and fall, Ahiru."

She stuck her tongue out childishly. "Will not!"

"I wouldn't bet on that," he replied simply, eyes focused on the ripe red fruit. He bit into the apple, chewing thoughtfully. "Surprisingly sweet," he remarked after a moment.

"You were expecting it to be sour?" she inquired. "Like you?"

Ignoring her comment, he tossed the apple up to her. "Try it."

Startled, she barely caught the fruit in both hands, one leg nearly slipping from its hold due to the sudden reaction. "You're trying to knock me down!" she accused.

"Try it," he repeated. "It's good."

Frowning, she glanced from him, to the apple, and back again.

Fakir crossed his arms. "It's not poisoned or rotten, idiot. I sampled it already."

The redheaded girl was still looking at him almost suspiciously from her upside-down position, making her expression rather comical from his viewpoint.

The dark-haired writer sighed. "If you don't believe me, try the section I did. There's nothing wrong with it."

Studying the missing chunk of the red fruit, she brought it to her lips and hesitantly bit into the groove.

He waited below while she munched the piece, watching the tail end of her braid sway with the wind. "Well?" he questioned. "What do you think?"

"Mm, this _does_ taste pretty good," she agreed with his former impression.

He glanced up and met her gaze again, emerald eyes reflecting a teasing glint and lips quirking into something that nearly resembled a smirk. "That was an indirect kiss, you know."

Flushing, she squeaked in surprise, lost her balance, and tumbled right down to the ground.

"See?" His green eyes shined with amusement as he held a hand out to help her up from the grass. "I told you that you'd fall."

Rubbing the dirt from her chin, she blinked up at him with wide blue eyes.

Years after the first time Ahiru had wondered, "Is there _more_?", she still continued to learn new things about Fakir every day.


	8. Sword dance

And believe it or not, I've already got inspiration for _another_ theme. Yeah. I think after this one, I'm going to give _Running Ink _my attention for a little while (unless another one of these themes releases a rabid plot bunny that attacks me).

No introspection in this one (not to the extent of the last two themes, anyway). Post-series and pure interaction between characters.

Special thanks to those of you taking the time to review! Much love for you:D

Hope you enjoy this theme as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**101 Kisses - Theme #58: Sword dance ----- Rating: PG**

**--------**

**Balance**

**--------**

Fakir had suggested early evening would be the best time, since the summer air would be a little cooler and the sun would still be high enough to provide enough, but not too much light.

They stood in the grassy field out behind the cabin, both clad in light, rugged clothes. The sun had not yet begun to set.

Admittedly, Ahiru had to borrow a pair of his old shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, having lacked suitable attire for outdoor activity of the type she was in store for. Skirts, dresses, and light-colored covering was not really recommended for what she was going to do.

Unsheathing the weapon brought along, Fakir swung the sword once, experimentally. "Not a lot of wind resistance," he reported, gazing into the nearby treetops. "That's good."

Turning toward his immobile companion, he laid the blade across his hands and held it out to her. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Cerulean eyes glanced warily from the offered object to the young man holding it. "You're sure this is going to help me with my balance?"

Fakir sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Would I lie to you?"

"Yes," she countered immediately. "If you wanted to see me make a fool out of myself."

"You manage that regardless."

"I do not!" she denied vehemently. "You just-"

"Look," he interrupted swiftly, tone reflecting irritation. "You asked for my help. Do you want it or not?"

Glaring at him a moment longer, Ahiru reached out and took Lohengrin's sword from his waiting hands.

And the moment he removed his support from the weapon, the weight of the metal object took her right down to her knees, small hands trapped underneath the blade on the ground.

Fakir attempted to cover a chuckle with one hand over his mouth, masking the noise with a cough.

"You're laughing!" she accused, prying her fingers out from under the sword. "You knew that would happen!"

Any traces of amusement were wiped clean from his features in an instant. He raised an eyebrow at her fallen form. "I didn't think you were _that _weak."

The redhead's cheeks flushed the same shade as her hair. "It's heavy!"

"Well," he gestured to the fallen weapon. "Pick it up. That's the first step."

Taking the hilt in both tiny hands, she hoisted herself back to a semi-standing position, dragging the end of the blade across the grassy ground.

"Now lift it into the air," he instructed. "Get your body familiar with and adjusted to the weight of the sword."

Her features hardened with concentration as she gripped the hilt tightly between her fingers and slowly, carefully, raised the metal tip from its resting position, until it lay suspended in the air diagonally from ground. And it seemed to be taking _all_ of her strength just to keep it there.

Fakir crossed his arms impatiently. "Raise it to a level height, Ahiru. Where it's standing now isn't going to help you at all."

Her knees began to wobble, causing the blade to shake in her grip. "It's too heavy, Fakir!" she whined. "Why couldn't you get something lighter for me to work with?"

"You're not going to find a sturdy balance with something that doesn't challenge you," he explained, watching the blade progress further upward from her continued efforts. "The extra weight will also help to improve your stamina and posture."

Finally, she'd managed to lift the blade straight out before her, legs crashing together as she struggled to hold it steady.

"Now bring your arms in and tilt the blade up. It'll be a little easier for you to hold that way."

Following his instructions, she bent her elbows out and brought the hilt closer to her chest. True to his words, the new pose eased the strain on her arms considerably.

"Like this?" she questioned, sparing a quick glance to her stern-faced teacher.

The ex-knight nodded. "Now, after you think you've got yourself familiar with the sword's mass, extend your arms again and swing the blade in an arc to your left."

The redhead swallowed, fixing her grip on the hilt, and straightened her arms out again, bringing the metal edge perpendicular to her body once more. Her legs began to shake under the weight and exertion again.

"Swing it," Fakir repeated, mimicking her stance and performing the action for her to follow.

Ahiru held onto the sword for dear life. "I...can't!" she bit out through tightly-clenched teeth. "It won't move!"

"Concentrate. Move your body in the direction you want the blade to go and focus your energy on getting it to follow suit."

Her brows drew together, eyes closing shut. "I can't!"

"Keep trying!"

Blindly, she threw all of the power and weight she could muster off to the left. And the blade followed its intended path, arcing right off into the left, but Ahiru, having used all of her energy and strength to get it there, was helpless to keep herself steady any longer.

Her blue eyes snapped open in surprise as she, connected through her hold on the hilt, went flying in the same direction as the sword. "Waaaaahhhh!"

"Idiot!" he called out, running after her. "Let go of it!"

Ahiru let her fingers slacken from around the hilt and the blade dropped with a dull thunk into the ground. Balance already completely lost, she jammed her eyes shut and waited for her face to kiss the ground.

But no such impact came. Instead, there was a heavy yank upon her right arm, which swung her around and right into something solid and warm. Large hands clamped to her shoulders and held her in place.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Recognizing the baritone voice immediately, her eyelids flew open as she pushed out of Fakir's safe hold, face aflame. "I-I'm fine! I'm fine!" she insisted, backing further away.

He raised an eyebrow at her odd reaction and proceeded to retrieve Lohengrin's sword from its dormant location. "That wasn't bad for a first try," he praised, snatching the fallen blade. "But you need to learn to conserve enough of your energy to prevent the sword from leading you, instead of the other way around."

She frowned. "It took every bit of my strength just to swing the stupid thing."

Tossing the sword into the air, the ex-knight caught the hilt with his left hand, swung the blade down and behind his back in a spiral, expertly passing from one hand to the other and swinging the metal edge out straight in front of him, and held its position.

"Show off," Ahiru muttered under her breath.

"It'll take some time to get used to," he stated as he approached her, apparently not having heard her comment.

She alternated her gaze between him and the sword, biting into her bottom lip. "...Do I have to do it again?"

"We'll try something a little different," he decided, and held the Lohengrin blade out to her once more.

Reluctantly, she took the offered weapon into her hands again, its heavy tip falling right to the ground. "Will it be easier?"

Instead of answering, he slipped behind her, and before she could register what was going on, her back was pressed up against his chest and both of his strong hands clasped around her own.

"F-F-Fakir?" she stammered, color returning to her cheeks from the close proximity.

His fingers tightened around hers and lifted both of their arms up, raising the blade from the ground. "This might help you become more accustomed to the feel and motions of the sword."

"O-Okay," she squeaked out, finding it hard to focus on the sword with him pressed up behind and around her.

He swung their arms to the left and then to the right. "Think of it like a dance partner," he explained, bending their arms back and bringing the hilt toward her right shoulder. "You want to not only create a balance from working with it, but a balance with the object itself. Understand?"

Ahiru nodded slowly, red hair brushing up against his shirt. She couldn't help but notice that his scent was rather..._nice_. Kind of earthy and dark, and surprisingly nothing like ink.

"Concentrate," he chastised sternly, nudging the back of her left ankle with one foot."Stop letting your mind wander."

The duck-girl jolted from the expected brush, but he tightened the grip over her hands and the hilt, holding her steady, and once again put the back-and-forth sword arcs into motion. She moved with his flow, trying to ignore the numerous shivers that crawled up her spine from the sensations of his touch.

"U-Um, so how is this going to help me with dancing on my own?" she questioned hesitantly.

He halted their progress. "Weren't you listening to me earlier, moron?"

"Yes!" she assured quickly."But-"

"Balance, stamina, posture, even grace and technique can get a boost from this practice," the writer supplied. "Haven't you noticed that dancers who can perform a pas de deux well are also very skilled in their own variations?"

"But that's with a _person_!" she argued. "Not an object!"

"Not everyone has the luxury of a willing or suitable partner," he stated simply.

She was quiet for a moment, then, "Well, what about _you_?"

He blinked. "Me?"

"Well, um, yeah..." she trailed off. "I don't know if we're uh, _suited_ or if you're _willing_, but I thought maybe you could help me more than a sword could."

"I guess I should feel honored that you'd rather dance with me than a sword?" he ventured sarcastically.

"I wanted you to be my partner from the start!" she blurted, then gasped aloud and snapped her mouth shut.

"Oh?" He let his grip on her hands and sword slacken, lowering the blade's sharp tip to the ground. "So that's why you were reluctant to this whole idea."

"Well I couldn't come out and _say_ that!" she defended heatedly.

"And instead you have me go through the trouble of teaching you all of this for nothing," he deduced, clearly annoyed.

Ahiru unwrapped her fingers from the sword, which fell from the lack of their support. "No! I still tried!"

"Fine," he said, letting go of her hands. "Even if you wouldn't be honest from the start, I'll help you improve. But,"

"But?" she echoed, blinking once.

Bending to his knees, he retrieved Lohengrin's sword and placed it into her hands. "You're going to keep learning _this_, as well."

Ahiru looked thoroughly crestfallen, staring up at him with a pout. "Why?"

Fakir patted her head with one hand. "Because I want to see you make a fool out of yourself."


	9. Routine

I actually wrote this up back in late March, but forgot to post it. XD; Anyway, here's a new theme. I actually did this on a challenge thing between me and some friends on LJ. Naturally I tend to steer down the Fakir/Ahiru path, so...It fit one of these themes I had and I decided to upload it here.

50 Love Quotes -- Quote #36: _"Dance like nobody's watching; love like you've never been hurt."_

_----- __**Routine**__ (Rating: G)-----_

It has become a steady routine, as noted by Fakir's admirers.

They can see him from the tall windows of the advanced students' practice room just after classes are done for the day - he dances alone. The movements are loud and powerful, radiating frustration that mirrors in his every footstep. It's much different from his more reserved and stiff execution of steps during class periods. The form and tempo are less controlled. He moves freely and without restraint.

And although he dances without a partner, his audience of one is always present in the room with him: a small duck with a perculiar tall feather atop her head, and large blue eyes that are always watching the young man as he leaps and spins about the enclosure.

They have since decided she must be his pet duck. And for a reason they can't seem to decipher - he will only dance like that when she is present. They know it for certain. On days when the yellow bird is mysteriously missing, he does not go to that room after classes and instead follows a small procession of students outside the Academy gates and back into town.

"Perhaps she inspires him," one among them suggests with a neutral shrug. There are brief nods and verbal exchanges of agreement, but something inexplicable is left unsatisfied by the conclusion.

----------------

Fakir waits until his unwanted onlookers have dispersed and fully withdrawn from sight before he turns to the lone duck sitting attentively by the barre. Holding her gaze, he takes a purposeful step toward her and extends one long, black-clothed arm to her in mime of the pose for requesting a dance.

She nods with a duck's version of a sad smile - Ahiru knows this dance and these movements are meant for her. She can't dance with him, but it's the strong feelings that he wishes to convey to her. He desires to dance with her, but he has not yet figured out a way to accomplish that goal. The anger and tension that result from that stress are always released before this dance. He does not care if _they_ watch that, for he is unashamed of his irritation - but _this_ dance is for Ahiru. And he does not allow anyone else to witness.

At her light gesture of approval he begins a slow and melancholy dance with very little movement at all: A step, and arch of one arm, two hands raised skyward -- he is dancing the male's half of a _pas de duex _without a partner. And each part speaks to her. It's a language she understands and knows well.

_I want to dance with you. I want you to be here. I want to support you and take you to new heights. Together._

She never communicates to him how much it pains her to see him perform the steps every day. He speaks silently of longing and of his own failures and she knows he's suffering. Part of her is honored that he openly shares his feelings with her in this way, but she wishes there was something more she could do for him.

Once, she had even attempted to rise and dance with him, even as a mere duck.

_"Moron," he admonished simply with a frown. "You know why I do this. Don't make it more difficult."_

And she knows - They _both_ know - the difference between dancing alongside one's partner and dancing _with_ them. But at least through their feelings they can connect. And they can still hope.

She watches until he is finished. Tomorrow he will dance again - perhaps with a new emotion conveyed or one missing. She's learned to understand him through movement now, almost as well as he can grasp her feelings when she dances for him. Almost.

For now, she is content to curl up in the crook of his arm as they leave the Academy for the day.

----------------

To the unmasked shock of Fakir's female fanclub, the routine is broken three months later.

Following Fakir to class is a girl they have never seen before. And she's everything he's _not_: Short, the top of her head barely reaching past his shoulder, flaming red hair a stark contrast to his almost-black, and furthermore she reveals herself as loud, energetic, and clearly a little ball of bouncing cheer. They also notice she is a lousy dancer - clumsy and unbalanced.

Therefore they can't understand why Fakir tolerates her, or even moreso how she manages to get something that looks suspiciously like a _smile_ to form across his stern lips. She's a stranger, after all, and almost his opposite in more ways than one.

However, the_ real _shock comes after school is out and they gather their common audience outside of the practice room. Following in after Fakir is none other than the nameless redhead that had been enrolled into the dance program earlier that day. Not only that, but the little yellow duck he would normally gather from the courtyard fountain is not nestled in his arms.

And unaware or uncaring of the onlookers beyond the glass, or the abrupt break in a solid routine that proceeded the day's events, the two within dance together. And the mysterious young girl somehow manages to surpass her awkward form and find a balance with Fakir. Their dance is nothing short of beautiful: Flowing, seamless transitions from one step to the next -- almost as though they had been practicing together every day.

Most of girls are stunned into silence, but a brunette of the group tilts her head to peer more closely through the windows, eyes focusing on the bright blue-eyed girl and the strange lock of red hair that remained airborne at all times. "...Isn't she kind of similar to his pet duck?"

The others exchange skeptical looks with each other, eyes alight with inner mirth at the mere thought.

Of course_ that _wasn't possible.

----------

And that's it, for now. Trying to get my muses up and running again. Speaking of running..._Running Ink'_s second chapter is still in the works, but I hope to have that done sometime soon, so hopefully look forward to that. :D

Any comments and criticisms are always welcome and appreciated.

Thank you for reading.


	10. Excuses

Okay...Before you go awol on me for not having continued my other Princess Tutu fics yet, please hear me out. I'm trying to keep my writing muse active and get it going again. In order to do so, I take the inspiration as it comes. Be patient, alright? I'm trying to work on the second chapter of Running Ink. That's my first priority unless I post more of these little things in the mean time in hopes of getting my muse running. (It's not much, but for the long wait, I'll include a small preview of the next chapter of RI below this fic, so you can get some idea how the next chapter is forming thus far.)

As for this fic itself, I kind of cheated for this theme. This is actually the application I wrote for Fakir in an LJ roleplay that I was hoping to join. But I have so many little unfinished things and small ficlets like this that I thought I might as well post them and stick them to one of the themes, because it IS still fanfiction, even if I wrote it for another purpose. (In that sense, I apologize if the way I try to make it meet a theme doesn't really fit too well. Eheh.) You might also notice things don't seem to flow. It's actually quite difficult to write like normal once you get into RPing, but I hope that doesn't bother anyone too much. I'll do what I can to fix it in the future, if at all possible.

And I know roleplaying has sucked up a lot of my writing and inspiration muses and I apologize for that. I don't plan to give it up but I want to reach the point where I can comfortably work with both fanfiction and roleplay without neglecting one too severely for the other. So again, I beg patience. I really do plan to continue these fics and things, because Princess Tutu is wonderful and inspirational and I love to write for it.

With that said, I hope you enjoy this small ficlet piece.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters do not belong to me.

------------------------------

**Lovequote #27**: _"It's not that I want to have you. I want to deserve you."_

-----------------------------

**Excuses**

---------

Every day in Kinkan Town was quiet and peaceful now. _Normal_.

And yet a day did not pass that Fakir wasn't uneasy. He could still almost _feel_ a veil of uncertainty in the air, hanging like a heavy morning fog that obscured something just out of sight. He looked up from the half-written page stained with black ink, his sharp green gaze scrutinizing the surrounding trees and lake. Nothing out of the ordinary met his alert gaze, but the strange and inexplicable sensation refused to leave him. _'Nonsense_,' he berated himself lightly with a brief shake of his head, the scritch-scratching of his quill against the parchment picking up again from his momentary pause.

Afterall, everything was finally the way it should be - the way it was _meant_ to be. All of the townspeople had returned to their former selves (there was no chance of running into a walking and talking anteater in the streets anymore) and had forgotten any happenings of the story completely. Everyone blissfully went about their daily business as though they'd never been sucked into a dead man's twisted story in the first place. And Fakir was thankful for it. The specific task of writing he had taken upon himself was certainly easier to go about doing when there was no group of cloaked men aiming to cut off your hands.

Not that the young man could say he was particularly comfortable with writing as of yet, anyway. The strange power that had been handed down to him from Drosselmeyer made every word _matter_, because there was no telling what would and wouldn't come true. Openings and pathways were unexpectedly created through the weaving of words and phrases, forming doorways that unpleasant things could crawl in through if he wasn't paying close attention. Fakir's duck-feathered quill halted once more, the hesitation from that uneasy thought stopping the swerving ink in its tracks and allowing a small puddle of black to form where the tip was firmly pressed in place.

Consequences.

_Death_.

A small bead of sweat formed and fell from his brow, trailing down his face until it dripped onto the paper below, staining one small spot. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed together, teeth gritting of their own accord. This_wasn't_ the time to be second-guessing himself! He was a writer now, not a knight. He couldn't - _wouldn't_ live by fear anymore! That way of life had given that up for good when he cast away his sword and defied the fate that had been given to him.

As a knight, he'd failed. His sword had failed to protect Mytho and Ahiru both. He'd been nothing more than a worthless wannabe knight who was always the one who ended up being protected in the end. ...But what of being a writer? Could he really protect others this way? He certainly hadn't_succeeded_ in the role - writing out the ending of Drosselmeyer's tale had been a terrible struggle and had only really succeeded through Ahiru's ability to hope and dance. Even before that, he'd nearly been forced to write the death of--- And he'd been unable to stop the ravens from attacking when---

"_**GEH**_!"

A splash of cold liquid startled Fakir out of his brooding thoughts and he grunted irritably, raising a hand to instinctively shield himself from the cool drops of water. He glared down off the side of the dock, the culprit staring back up at him with one yellow wing extended. "You---_idiot_!" he bit out in an annoyed fashion. "Can't you see that I'm writing? You could have ruined half the parchment with your stupid little spla--" He paused mid-word and blinked, noting the duck's expression was firm and readable to him even without the luxury of speech. Flushing very slightly, he immediately averted his gaze from hers. "I'm not upset, moron. I was just...thinking about something. There was no need to throw water on me for it."

Seemingly placated by his words, Ahiru gave a little quack and went about her business again. Fakir turned his gaze back to her briefly as she swam around the dock, and let out a small sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

If she was content now, why wasn't he? She certainly had the _least_ reason to be happy with the outcome of Drosselmeyer's tale. Ahiru had given her _all_ to save the prince and return his heart - she loved him. However, after the final battle with the Monster Raven, Mytho had unexpectedly chosen_Rue_ to be his princess instead. And Ahiru no longer even retained the ability to take human form once she returned the very last piece of the prince's heart (in the form of her pendant, which formerly allowed her to become both a girl and Princess Tutu). She became nothing more than her true self: a mere duck once again. Fakir frowned at that thought, absent-mindedly letting his quill slip from his fingers and onto the stack of parchment below.

_"...I'll just turn into a regular old duck again, won't I? I won't be able to study ballet with everyone anymore..."_

_"Isn't that alright? That's the real you. And even if that does happen, I will always stay by your side."_

Another sigh escaped his lips, green eyes trailing after the duck in the water below. What good was the promise and company of a useless knight and struggling writer when everything she could have - _should_ have had with the prince was taken from her? Was she really happy doing nothing but living a duck's simple life now? Even when the one she loved and gave everything for took the hand of the Raven's daughter instead of hers? Didn't she miss dancing? Her friends? Speaking? ...Being a human girl?

'_You're just looking for an excuse_,' a chiding voice in the back of his mind supplied.

The frown on his face deepened as he mentally shook his head from forming any further questions. _He_ had been the one to tell her that she should accept her true self and the way she was meant to be! What right did he have _now_ to think any differently? It was absurd. These countless days on the dock writing and sharing in her company must have begun to have an effect on his way of thinking. The same way she'd slowly begun to change him after he'd allowed himself to trust her.

She was too goddamn selfless and somehow it inexplicably,_ irrationally _irritated him.

Not that it was even wrong of her to be that way or that any of it was her fault at all. The problem was deeper. The problem was with _him_. How many times had he considered writing a story for her? Fakir had lost count. And even though he had hastily dismissed any such urge from ever materializing and reaching the paper, he had physically forced himself away from his writing tools more than once to prevent from attempting.

_Ridiculous_, that's what it was. He could admit to himself that he missed speaking to her, even if they would get into arguments constantly and she would do and say stupid things. It was still amusing at times and even..._endearing,_ somehow. And they'd helped and leaned on each other in their times of need. He could be himself around her and not have to worry about being judged, because she knew the truth and she understood him. Fakir hadn't stopped to realize just how different things would be when she returned to being a duck. He'd grown used to and almost comfortable with her as a girl and then suddenly that strange and awkward companionship he'd become accustomed to was _gone_.

And sometimes Fakir caught Ahiru staring off into the distance where Kinkan Academy was located, her wide blue gaze almost wistful. His mind had twisted such looks into meaning that she missed her human life, and everything that came with it. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she deserved to have it for what the story had put her through. So why had she been the one left with nothing when it was over? That couldn't be right. That couldn't be _fair_.

'_Excuses_.'

Fakir picked up his fallen quill, pressing the tip down onto a blank area on the parchment.

He would be doing her a favor by writing her story then, wouldn't he? Simply giving her what deserved to be granted for what she'd done and sacrificed?

His hand twitched once and began to move, the ink trailing from the tip and onto the paper with smooth lines.

'..._Or is this desire entirely your __**own**_?' his own mind mocked him.

The quill jarred sharply against the paper, a large black streak tearing through the delicate page.

He was being _selfish_.

Fakir nearly toppled his chair over as he abruptly stood, papers and ink falling from his lap and scattering onto the wooden deck, a few stray pages of it floating off into the water. He stubbornly ignored Ahiru's frantic quacking as he briskly turned on heel and stalked off of the deck, heading straight back for home with nothing but a duck-feathered quill in his hand.

_Why_ couldn't he just be happy with the way things were now? _Why_ did things have to get complicated? _Why_ did it matter if he was lonely? _Why_ did he have to care at all?

Fakir knew that he didn't deserve anything and his selfish thoughts only further proved that point. Why couldn't he just accept it like she had?

He was a human boy and she was a duck. That was the way things were _meant to be_.

And Fakir knew that even though he had the _power_ to, he didn't have the _**right**_ to change it.

--------------------------------

And that does it for this little theme/piece. I hope you enjoyed it, even though it was mostly Fakir introspection.

As mentioned above, I said I would provide a small bit from the next chapter of Running Ink, right? Well, here's a little piece of what's in store for Chapter 2:

---------------

Rue bit her lip nervously, unwilling to tell the truth. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" she broke out mock-cheerfully. "I'll even give you a raise for any trouble this whole situation has caused. How does that sound?"

"A raise..." Ahiru remarked thoughtfully. She couldn't deny that a little extra income would help a lot.

The fingers on her shoulder tensed. "I can assure you whatever minimal wage you were paid there will be at least _doubled_ here."

"How dare you!" Rue bit out hatefully. "That's the same dirty tactic you used on Mytho!"

"Mytho _wanted_ to leave your company," the green-eyed head of Night Ink supplied with a shrug. "I merely gave him compensation for putting up with you as long as he did."

"_Bastard_," the female CEO spat, crimson eyes flaring with inner rage.

Ahiru was getting lost between their less-than-civil verbal exchange. What was the point in all the _fighting_? It was a little hard for her to believe that both of their companies were in such desperate need of cleaning help. How had it turned from being fired by one, interrogated and refused by the other, to what had now escalated into a heated battle over who would get to employ her? What a bizarre day it was turning out to be.

---------------

And that's it for now, folks. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to finish it (since I always tend to write such gigantic chapters), but I'm working on it, so please bear with me, alright? If I can dig up or put any more small things like this together to share in the mean time, I'll try. I'm really sorry about leaving things hanging for over a year.

Any comments and questions are welcome in a review and appreciated, as always.


	11. The Worst Way To Start Your Day

Still no update on Running Ink, so I apologize. This idea came to me and was just begging to be written, so I went with the inspiration as it came. Hopefully I'm getting my writing muse some well-needed exercise, at least.

So what might this be? Well, I support Fakir/Ahiru with Uzura as a crazy cracky little family and I still think she looks like their love child. That's what this was essentially born on. (You have been warned.)

And since I strangely had support to write this, I decided to give it a go. If the crack of it doesn't bother you, feel free to read on---or take this cue to turn tail if this isn't up your alley. There's also a lot of attempted humor in this, so keep that in mind, as well. Setting is post-series. Maybe a year later? And Uzura has for whatever reason, come to live at Charon's house with Fakir and Ahiru.

Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu or any of its characters.

**101 Kisses - Theme #99: _Clock_ --- Rating: PG**

--------------------------------------------------

**The Worst Way To Start Your Day**

--------------------------------------------------

He was usually the first to awaken, but the distinct chaotic crash of an obscure rhythm pounding mercilessly through his hazed head (much alike to nails being driven into his skull) effectively alerted Fakir that someone else had beaten him to the punch. Clamping his hands over his ears, he cracked open a pair of bloodshot eyes just long enough to vaguely catch the placing of the hour and minute hands on the old clock standing between two large bookcases on the other side of the room.

It's wasn't late--but later than he would normally wake, which is enough to coerce him into an upright sitting position, hands still secured on either side of his head in order to block out as much of the unwanted noise as he could manage. His tired eyes lifted to his desk near the corner, which was littered with parchment and decorated unbecomingly with black droplets and streaks. Sitting untouched beside the mess was one firm packet of papers, neatly stacked and laying on top of a large envelope.

At least the sacrificing of sleep had allowed him to meet his deadline. That was all that mattered.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he spared another glance to the clock as he tugged the sleeve of his nightshirt from where it had crawled up his arm in the middle of the night. Ten minutes to eight. That was good. He wouldn't have to rush too much, since fortunately the deadline wasn't until ten o'clock sharp.

Now if only that god-awful noise next-door would _stop_, he could concentrate on--

Fakir abruptly froze mid-thought, green eyes still glued to the clock face across his room.

The second hand wasn't moving.

Blinking away what he hoped was a sleepy illusion, he squinted at the clock again, noting with a small dose of panic that the timepiece was indeed _not working_. With a grunt of frustration, he pulled his hands away from his ears and threw the remaining covers off of himself, dropping down to his knees beside the bed as he began quickly rummaging through a small assortment of objects that lay scattered across the bottom shelf of his bedside table.

_'Pocketwatch...pocketwatch...where the **HELL** is it?!'_

With no hands free to muffle the sharp, repetitive noise from his aching ears -- which was combining unpleasantly with the clashing off all the trinkets and things he was rooting through -- Fakir could feel his headache growing steadily worse by the _second_. Why did this one _important _day have to start off so damn unfavorably?

Finally spotting the elusive object in the far corner of his search area, he ducked his head under the nightstand in order to get himself close enough to reach it. And just as his fingers clasped triumphantly around the circular shape, a particularly loud strike upon the annoying noisemaker in the next room sent a severe pound through his temples and inadvertently forced his head up to collide with the underside of the shelf he was beneath. "Urgh!" Retracting violently from the nightstand with another grunt of pain, his hands automatically rose to hold his aching head, silver trinket falling from his grasp and dropping onto the floorboards.

Patience completely snapped, the disgruntled boy sent a severe glare to the closed door, almost as though he was trying to burn a hole right through it. "Stop beating that goddamn drum _RIGHT NOW _or I swear I'll **BREAK** IT!"

The loud clattering upon the instrument finally paused. "Oooohhhh, Fakir is in a bad mood-zura!" declared an overly-cheerful voice, partially muffled through the door's barrier.

Fakir ignored her, thankful that racket had at last ceased, and turned his attention back to his abandoned task. Spotting the forgotten timepiece, he snatched it and hastily flipped the silver cover of the pocketwatch open, drawing in a short a breath before snapping it closed again. Twenty minutes past nine. That was _not_ good. Not good at _**all**_.

Climbing back to his feet, Fakir immediately turned and headed for the chair in front of his writing desk, gathering the clothing that was draped over the back of it. At least he'd had enough sense to get his clothes ready the night before. One less hassle he needed to worry about._ 'And speaking of hassles...' _Green eyes fixed on the window -- or rather, the occupied basket sitting on its sill beneath the rays of early morning sunshine. Fully expecting the racket to have woken her, the ex-knight was mildly surprised that the bird appeared not to have even flinched.

_'...That idiot had actually managed to **sleep** through it all?'_

Somehow irrationally irritated by the fact that she was able to doze right through what was driving him nuts, his fingers fisted tightly around the clothing in his arms. "Hey! Idiot! Hurry and get the hell up! You're on breakfast duty this morning, remember?" The duck merely tucked her head further under her wing in response and Fakir bristled inwardly. He was running late and now she had to pick THIS particular morning to add to his aggravation.

Already in a downright _rotten_ mood thanks to his unwelcome wake-up call, faulty clock, and head-banging, he stalked over to his writing table and snagged the water glass from its surface, proceeding to approach the unsuspecting and peacefully-sleeping duck upon the windowsill. And with no shred of concern for the consequences of such an action, he swiftly swung the half-empty water glass toward the duck, discarding its contents all over her, the window, the curtains, and turned briskly on heel to make his way toward the door.

The splash of the water was followed by a quack of surprise, which rapidly turned into a startled shriek as the transformed duck-girl fell from the now-much-too-small basket and unceremoniously onto the bookcase beneath the window and then the floor. She glared through her wet red bangs at the dark-haired boy's retreating back as embarrassment and anger battled for control over her features. "FAKIR! You _JERK_! I was having such a good dream and then why'd you have to go and do something so MEA--" The rest of her voice was effectively drowned out as the door slammed in Fakir's wake.

Once he'd exited the room, Fakir leaned up against the door for a brief moment, dutifully ignoring the angry rambling from within as he let out a sigh. Perhaps now things could start looking up and the morning could proceed without further incident. Allowing that bit of hope to give him a slightly less negative outlook, he lifted away from his slouch on the door and hurriedly headed for the bathroom. As long as he could pick up his pace and that moron could get her act together, perhaps he could still make it on time to deliver his final draft. And at least Uzura had stopped that irritating and shrill drumming, which was always a---

"**OUCH**! SON OF A--" Unwelcomely pulled from his positive contemplation, Fakir's eyebrows twitched with a mixture of pain and renewed anger as he picked his foot up off the floor, glowering at the object that laid innocently beneath it. No longer trapped by his bare foot, one of Uzura's many toys rolled away from him and clacked against the wall. His hopeful outlook effectively shattered, Fakir reared his foot back and punted the wooden toy down the hallway, where it met and smacked against the side of the stairwell, proceeding to crash all the way down. Wincing slightly when he stepped down on the abused foot again, the dark-haired young man finished his short trek to the bathroom, door slamming behind him after he entered.

-------------------------------------

Upon hearing another crash of a door, Ahiru scowled at nothing in particular. What was his _problem_, anyway? He'd been rude about waking her on occasion, but he never threw water on her while she was sleeping before!

Having already seen to her decency by wrapping herself in one of his bedsheets, she crouched down by the window and picked up her basket, fixing the padding on it before setting it back on the window's edge. It had been her request to stay the nights in his room, and after a huge argument over the subject, he'd finally given in on the condition that only did so a duck. And it wasn't that the redhead wasn't grateful for the room he'd originally provided her with -- she really _was_ -- but Charon's house had a really creepy feeling to it that she couldn't shake. Ahiru thought maybe there were ghosts in it (no matter how many times Fakir told her that was nonsense) and the thought of spirits roaming in the middle of the night kept her from getting any rest. And what was the use of sleeping if you couldn't even fall asleep? Thus she'd pushed for the change in sleeping arrangements. Staying in the same room with Fakir provided a safety and security she couldn't seem to find on her own, plus it was nice not to be as lonely.

But when he behaved like he did just five minutes prior, Ahiru considered that maybe the ghosts would be _easier_ to deal with than his temper and sour moods.

With that thought in mind, the frown remained on her features as she headed toward the door, silently calling Fakir a jerk repeatedly in her head. And just as her small hand reached out to rest on the brass knob, her gaze strayed to his writing desk and the packet of parchment neatly stacked together. Blue eyes widened as she remembered how stressed he'd been the night before -- and if the remains of the candle wax were anything to rely on, the duck-girl deduced that Fakir must have stayed up really late in order to finish his story.

_'Well...if he's lacking sleep, maybe _that's_ why he's in a bad mood.'_

Ahiru trotted out of the room, long white sheet trailing after her as she made her way toward the room Charon and Fakir provided for her use, her expression set in firm determination.

She'd make the best breakfast Fakir _ever_ had!

--------------------------------------

Fakir's reflection stared unpleasantly back at him as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, finding it rather difficult to maneuver his arms or prevent the crest of the white fabric from choking him. He wasn't sure just who the clothes were handed down from, but it was obviously someone smaller and shorter than him.

Deciding to leave the top button undone in attempt to allow some breathing room, Fakir reached for the final piece of the ensemble, not wishing to waste any more time than necessary to finish dressing. And as luck would have it, when his fingers were just inches from snatching the jacket from its resting place, a loud ripping noise issued through the small enclosure. Fakir nearly smacked a palm to his forehead, looking back to the mirror to assess the damage. The left sleeve hung on his shoulder by a few stray threads, an impressive diagonal tear reaching all the way from the side of his shoulder to the area of his underarm. Eyes narrowing as frustration leaked back into his veins at a rapid rate, Fakir tore the fabric free completely, discarding the severed white sleeve onto the bathroom floor. Quickly snatching the jacket from its perch, he pulled it on, ignoring the short sleeves and tight fit as best he could.

"At the very least, I can't think of any goddamn reason this will require _removing_ the coat," he muttered distastefully to his mirrored-twin as he buttoned up the black jacket. Hurriedly tying his still-damp hair back into its traditional ponytail, he took one last glance at his reflection before swiftly exiting the bathroom and making his way down the hall and stairs with quick steps.

Once reaching the bottom of the stairwell, the former-knight made a beeline for the kitchen, surprised --but pleasantly so-- that he could hear definite activity from within. That meant at least Ahiru had managed to accept her responsibility, even after her rude awakening.

"_WAUGH_!" The cry of surprise released as Fakir's left foot unexpectedly fell on top of something obstructing his intended path, one leg sliding upon the object and crossing behind the other, which sent him completely off-balance and crashing to floor in a jumble of limbs. He vaguely registered a startled voice approaching quickly from the area of the kitchen as he groaned from his prone position, raising slowly up to sit and rubbing the point of impact on his lower back.

Green eyes widened considerably as they landed upon a familiar toy that rolled back and forth in place just a foot or so in front of him.

For a moment he just stared in shock, finding it hard to believe that the_ same stupid toy _had screwed him over for a _**second**_ time that morning. Then he grit his teeth, hands fisting on either side of him as he forced himself up to his feet again. "I don't** BELIEVE** this! What the _HELL_ did I do to deserve this bloody _**nonsense**_ first thing in the goddamn morning!?"

Ahiru, who had come hurriedly after Fakir had yelled out and stopped just short of the doorway when he'd started shouting, peeked out from the side of the pantry. "Fakir, are you alright? I heard you yell and then there was a crash and--"

"I'm_ FINE_," the surly boy interrupted grumpily as he brushed dust off of the borrowed dress pants.

"O-Okay," Ahiru struggled to smile in hopes of salvaging his mood even_ slightly_. "I'm making a nice big breakfast for you so just go and relax until it's done and then--"

"Do you have any idea what** time **it is?" he cut her off a second time, his eyes staring at her in disbelief. "I have to be there by _ten_, moron! Haven't you even _looked_ at a clock? I don't have time for anything fancy!"

She flushed in embarrassment, realizing she really _hadn't_ stopped to check the time, and quickly turned to glance at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. "At ten? So you have--you have fifteen minutes." Smiling brightly despite the further bad news, the duck-girl waved one hand. "That's plenty of time! The toast is already made and the table is set so it should be fi--" This time, Ahiru trailed off on her own, blanching as she noted a small stream of smoke issuing from the area of the woodstove. "OH NO, I _FORGOT_ ABOUT THE BACON!"

"For god's sake..._DON'T BURN THE HOUSE DOWN ON TOP OF EVERYTHING __**ELSE**_!" Fakir shouted after her panicking figure, his right hand raising to the top of his head and resting on his throbbing temple.

Everything just got worse and_ worse _and--

"Ooohhhh! Fakir found Uzura's favorite toy-zura!"

...still worse.

The small green-haired puppet girl hopped down the stairs, ignoring Fakir's dangerous glare as she bent over to retrieve the wooden top from its resting place. "Uzura was searching all over for it-zura!" Looking up at Fakir, she blinked, tilting her head as she studied the young man's clearly angry expression. "What's wrong with Fakir-zura? Still in a bad mood even after Uzura stopped drumming-zura?"

Paying no heed to her questions, Fakir leaned down just long enough to snatch the 'tool of destruction' from Uzura's tiny hands. "I_ swear_... If you don't learn to start _picking up after yourself_, I will **never** buy you another goddamn toy as long as I_ live_! Is that clear!?"

The puppet girl pouted visibly. "Uzura said she couldn't find it-zura! Looked everywhere and it wasn't there or Uzura _would_ have picked it up-zura!"

The ex-knight responded with nothing more than an aggravated and indecipherable noise, placing the offending object up on a high shelf and out of the small girl's reach.

"Fakir is being mean again-zura!" The animated toddler declared loudly.

"Maybe you'll get the damn piece of junk back if you learn to _behave_ yourself once in awhile," Fakir replied coldly, straightening his coat before entering the kitchen and inwardly deciding he might as well get breakfast -- which he was certain somehow was going to be _hell_ -- over with.

He found Ahiru bustling around the kitchen in attempt to get things prepared in time, looking almost like a little housewife in Raetsel's frilly old apron as she bounced from place to place. Nearly grimacing when his eyes caught sight of the charred remains in the pan on the stove, he tore his gaze away from the cooking disaster and raised an eyebrow at the girl as she reached unsuccessfully for something up on top of the cupboard.

Fakir sighed. "Hey, if you need help just _ask_, idiot."

Finally noticing that she wasn't alone, Ahiru turned to beam at Fakir, her hand still groping for one of the two containers up above. "Oh, it's okay! Really! I can reach it, I just need to------there!"

Green eyes broadened at the unfolding scene. "Wait--_No_--Watch what you're _**doing**_, moron! You're going to--!" He lurched forward in hopes of preventing the impending disaster, reaching up behind her in attempt to stop the second container (which she'd accidentally bumped with the one she grabbed) from tumbling.

And as fate would have it, his cautious action came too late. The lid flew off of large tin as it fell down, discarding a white powder onto both of them before it clattered to the kitchen floor, covering half of the room with a cloud of thin white dust.

The moment of dead silence that followed was quickly shattered as Ahiru broke into a flurry of incredibly nervous apologies.

_'Stay calm, stay calm, stay __**calm**,'_Fakir lectured himself almost like a mantra, trying desperately to ignore the duck-girl's frantic rambling as his right eyebrow twitched violently above closed eyes. The front of the black suit, which wasn't even his, was now completely _covered_ in flour, as was his hair. And to make matters worse, the kitchen was an utter _mess_, breakfast was _ruined_, and he wasn't sure just how much more he could take at this point.

The moment the flour-coated redhead attempted to reach out and brush the white substance from his shoulder, his eyes snapped open and he wrenched away from her, turning his back before he could see the hurt expression on her features. "Just...finish getting breakfast ready. I don't have any more _time_ or _**patience**_ for this ceaseless chain of _stupidity_." With that said, he stalked out the kitchen, shaking flour from his hair carelessly and brushing it from his jacket as he made his way toward the dining room.

Ahiru followed in just after he'd seated himself at the end of the table, Uzura already sitting beside him and being oddly quiet. She placed plates of floured toast and blackened bacon down on the table, hands clasped in front of her as she bit her lip nervously. "Ah--Um---! I'll take the top piece of toast since that one got it the worst!" she declared louder than necessary, hastily seating herself in the chair across from Uzura as she took the white-coated bread slice.

"Why does the food look funny-zura?" The curious little girl asked, causing Ahiru's cheeks to turn dark red as she busied herself with cleaning off her piece of toast.

"Because some people can't cook _anything_," Fakir supplied shortly, looking at his own breakfast of charred bacon bits and flour-dusted toast with distaste. "At least she managed to pour juice without staining the entire tablecloth yellow. Small miracles _can_ happen."

Dropping her toast down to her plate, the duck-girl turned and fixed a blue-eyed glare on the offending speaker. "_You_--! I tried to make a good breakfast for you this morning! Maybe I made mistakes but so what! I just wanted to do something _nice_ for you before your meeting thing and you gotta go and be such a jerkface about it!"

He returned her glare with one of his own, depositing his juice glass roughly onto the table top. "You could have at least _paid attention_! How many times have I told you not to space out when you're in the middle of something? And you still don't learn!"

"W-Well I'm not _perfect_! I try not to forget things but it's hard too! And it's not like you don't cause any problems mister bossy boss! You get mad over the stupidest things sometimes and--"

"What the hell does _that_ have to do with the fact that you can't make one single meal without _trashing _something in the process?!"

"I can TOO make something without doing things wrong! You just can't learn to be thankful for anything unless you think it's _good_ enough for you!"

"Is that so? So when have you made something without ruining it, moron? Huh?"

"Well_ you_ broke the vase out in the hall when you were mad about stubbing your toe on the wall!"

"That has nothing to do with _anything_ and that's not even what happen---"

"So when are Fakir and Ahiru getting married-zura?"

The duck-girl squeaked in surprise as her arm slipped and fell down into the butter dish and Fakir pounded a fist against his chest as he struggled to unlodge a piece of toast that had caught in his throat. The innocent interruption had caught the pair completely off-guard, and even effectively stopped their bickering.

Uzura blinked innocently from her chair, peering from one to the other. "Uzura can play her drum at your wedding-zura?"

Both Ahiru and Fakir's faces were stained bright red from embarrassment (and lack of breath in Fakir's case). The redhead waved her hands wildly in front of her, small puffs of flour becoming airborne from her clothing due to the movement. "W-W-W-Wedding?! Uzura-chan! That's not---_We're_ not--!"

The puppet child grinned, pulled out her drumsticks, and began tapping upon the face of the instrument fastened around her. "Love-love-love-love-love-love..."

Finally having cleared his breathing passageway, the surly boy rose from the table, his chair screeching backward in the process. "I have five minutes so I best leave _now_," he stated simply, fighting down the redness in his cheeks as he robotically approached the front door.

Ahiru followed suit in getting up from the table, noting something Fakir hadn't seemed to realize with a startled gasp. "Wait! Fakir, what about your _story_?!"

The young man paused mid-step, cursing under his breath. But just as he turned to head back up to his room, a flash of red crossed his vision as Ahiru made a wild dash up the stairway. "Don't worry! I'll get it really quick and then you can go!"

And as quickly as she had disappeared, the small redhead came barreling back down the stairs, a packet carried securely in her arms. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, she dashed straight for the door where Fakir was waiting. "Here it is! I got it as quickly as I could and---_Whooooaaaa_!!" Ahiru's blue eyes broadened as her shoe caught on a rug, which quickly sent her flying face-first toward the floor.

"Watch out, moron! You--" Fakir winced as she yelped when her body hit the ground, immediately coming to her side to help her back up. "Are you alright?"

"It's fine, it's fine!" she assured him, showing that the package had been protected during her fall. "I _swear_ I didn't ruin it, so if you hurry now you can still--!"

"Hey, I wasn't asking about that. I asked if you were okay."

The duck-girl blinked in surprise, seeing the concern strangely evident on his features. "O-Oh, me? I'm fine too!" She got to her feet, holding out the envelope containing his story. "I'm _really_ sorry about breakfast and the flour mess and fighting with you too! I hope you do well and I'm sure you will and we'll celebrate when you get back, okay? I promise I'll have the kitchen cleaned before then!"

Fakir raised an eyebrow, gingerly taking the package from her waiting hands. "...Thanks. And don't worry about the food. You'll...get better with practice, I'm sure."

She smiled her gratitude for the encouragement, reaching her free hands out to brush the remnants of flour from his suit. "Good luck, Fakir! I hope you get the job!" And before she could stop to think about what she was doing, Ahiru stood up on her tippy-toes and brushed her lips across his cheekbone. "Do your best!"

"Do your best-zura!" Echoed a giddy voice that was approaching from the dining room.

Fakir felt the heat return to his face due to the unexpected gesture, clearing his throat as he turned on heel and headed back toward the door before the puppet girl could make any embarrassing comments. "R-Right. Take care of Uzura and the house, then."

"Don't worry, I will!" Ahiru called cheerfully after him just before he slipped out of sight.

The door closed soundly behind the suited figure, not slamming shut for once. And despite the bad mood and bad luck he'd endured all through the morning since waking, Fakir had an unusually _good_ feeling about the rest of the day.

------------------------------------

And that concludes it. I honestly meant for this to be really short, but the fic kept growing as I went along (even though I kept my ending point exactly the same as I had originally decided on). Oh, and if you're wondering why the three of them were there alone, I sent Charon on some sort of trip during this so I could explore the dynamic between just the three of them. I thought about mentioning that in the fic itself, but the topic never came up so I left it alone.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed that little cracky one-shot. And although it may not have seemed too cracky, I tried to really add some parts to it that made the three of them seem like a family even though readers who have seen the series already know they aren't. Did I succeed in that at all?

Well, comments, criticisms, and questions are most welcome and appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it or at least got a laugh or two out of it. I believe this is my longest addition to my Kisses and Quotes collection yet.

Thank you for reading!


	12. Healing Touch

101 Kisses - Theme #74: _Voice_

--

**Healing Touch**

--

_Failure._

That's what his life was all about. The seemingly innocent child's hand that destroyed his family, the worthless knight that could protect no one, and the reborn writer still cursed with a dangerous power that was near-impossible to control.

And yet he had taken a chance, for her sake. When he shouldn't have - without even asking. Granted, he had not meant for it to happen at all, but it was still another to add to his list of failures. Such a simple story about a duck - nothing about a girl, nothing about a princess... He only wanted to give her happiness and he couldn't even manage _that_. What use were his words to her from the bottom of the Lake of Despair now? What use was his promise? Why would she even choose to be around him after what he unknowingly had done to her?

And so he had hidden away in a place she could not find him - the very deepest reaches of his own mind. Even her light could not touch him there (no matter how much he would never admit to missing its warmth). The ex-knight could not explain the situation to her, could not explain to her why she was a girl again, could not explain that he had made yet another _mistake_. And he did not want to face the girl - that clumsy redhead with the bright smile and the large blue eyes - he could not deal with the guilt. It had been an _accident_, but it wasn't even something he could undo. His pen refused to cooperate - refused to return things back to the way they were supposed to be.

_He failed her again_.

Had Fakir not been so utterly consumed by guilt and the knowledge of wrongdoing, he might have almost considered this area of his mind to be a peaceful haven. There was darkness all around him, surrounding his bare form and graciously blocking his scar from view. It was a place he could seek eternal shelter in, and well-deserved, especially with his mistakes and failures to keep him company.

The voice that suddenly issued from the void around him, however, was unexpected. He knew it - the soft duck-like tone was very familiar - and that strangely melodious voice was calling to him. Almost on instinct, he looked up from where his head had been buried under his arms and knees - and with just the small acknowledgment of her presence by whispering her name, light flooded the darkness. It was bright and blinding, but not as unwelcome as the ex-knight had originally thought. And she, materializing from white haze and into his line of vision, was nothing short of remarkable. Had he been anywhere else at any other time and seen her like this, he surely would have flushed from head to toe and stammered at her lack of clothing, but somehow that was all cleared from the crevices of his mind now and only the amazement remained. How had she found him? Why was she _smiling_ as she came closer? Wasn't she aware of what he had done...?

Abruptly feeling ashamed, he ducked his head down again, trying to ignore the soft pad of footsteps that were coming closer. It had to be a trick of the mind - he had blocked her out of here on purpose. Surely his own mind had created the lovely image to taunt him and personify his mistake. She couldn't really be--

"Fakir, please look at me," the request was simple, and the light touch upon his face beckoned the dark-haired boy to raise his head (albeit reluctantly). Still he was met with a small, but warm smile by the lithe girl who crouched beside him, which made his eyes begin to water with restrained emotion. Could his mind really have created such an image? Could it really serve to torture him like this? "Fakir," she beckoned again as she took his other hand in hers, but her voice was more insistent this time. "I've come to bring you back."

At that, his eyes shot wide open, the shock in his features more than apparent as he stammered out, "Ahi--H-How?" But he did not wait for her reply. After all, whether she had managed to find her way in or not was inconsequential. And so he closed his eyes, unable to face the pure blue of her own. Even it if really _was_ her...he had no right to look at her or speak to her after what he had done. "Ju...Just _go_," his tone broke, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "You're not welcome here." The ex-knight felt a stab at his heart from his own words - here the whole mess was plainly his own fault and yet he was still harsh with her when she didn't deserve it.

However, to his surprise, she did not rise and leave, or even get upset or angry with him. The hand at the side of his face wove through the dark locks of hair almost tenderly, her fingertips caressing the side of his face. "Fakir, you can't do this to yourself. You can't live here in guilt and sadness and pain, without hope and love and happiness..."

Still his eyes remained shut, brow creasing to reflect his inner-suffering. "I can't... I can't go back. I ruined everything again. I turned you back without your consent. Clearly, I'm dangerous. And I won't put you in any further danger or through any more discomfort." He paused, taking a short, shuddering breath. "Leave me."

When her hand dropped his, he had almost believed she was about to do as he asked. However, no sooner had he thought that when the newly freed hand cupped the other side of his face, holding his head firmly, but gently between small hands. And amidst the surprise, his eyes had once again opened to the light, meeting the bright luster of sky blue just inches away from him. "You made me a promise." It wasn't an accusation, but more of a firm reminder, one of which caused his mouth to open slightly, though no words released to follow. Un-deterred, she continued, "And I believe in it - I believe in_ you_, Fakir. This isn't like you at all and I think you understand that somewhere in your heart." The smile returned to her lips almost wistfully. "You don't have to hide from me."

He gaped for a brief time, mouth opening and closing as he stared openly at her, entirely lost for words. "...Ahiru?" he finally voiced quietly, as if questioning her and her words and everything all at once with that simple exhale of her name. She leaned forward then, eliciting a gasp from his throat as she pressed her lips carefully to his tear-stained cheek, almost as if she could extract his sadness with that gesture alone. Pulling back away, while still holding that soft and luminescent upturn of her lips, she finally dropped her hands from his face, though her gaze remained trained directly to his. "It was too late for me to say it before," she started, pausing briefly as she reached up for a moment again to trace his jawline with one finger. "But I promise I will stay by your side forever, too."

Ignoring his stunned and flabbergasted expression, she rose to her feet with a fluid grace that almost seemed unlike her, and extended one arm to him. "Let's go home, Fakir. _Together_."

For a long moment, he just stared at the girl - the duck - before him, taking her in subtle beauty, the cascade of red hair that curled all around her like a blanket, the eyes full of hope and life...and the hand outstretched before him - welcoming and forgiving and understanding...

Re-sealing his promise, Fakir took her hand. And suddenly being a failure didn't matter anymore. He knew that Ahiru would always believe in him, and for that reason - for _her_, he decided he could also believe in himself.

--

AN: This short fic was actually based off of a fanart of mine that's up on deviant art (it shares the same title as this fic). Mangaka-chan gave me a prompt (since I was asking for them on a meme) that had to do with the background of that piece of art as though part of a dream-like sequence. And this was then written by her request.

Hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.


	13. Don't Send In The Clowns

101 Kisses: Theme #76 - Game

--

**Don't Send In The Clowns**

--

Fakir grimaced. The amount of loud, annoying chatter and the nauseous smell of popcorn and cotton candy that permeated the air was really starting to put him into an even _worse_ mood. He looked completely out of place in the cheerful and upbeat atmosphere, standing there as still as a board and wearing an expression to mirror his displeasure. Unlike him, the redhead at his side was nearly bouncing up and down in barely-contained excitement, lively blue eyes following the bustling movement of the carnival goers, the colorful displays, rides, and the assortment of flamboyantly-dressed people who were handing out balloons and doing various tricks.

"Fakir! Fakir!" She tugged on his arm, which wasn't nearly enough force to make the boy budge from his grounded position. All it earned was a slight glare of irritation, but she was not phased in the slightest - after all, this was perfectly normal behavior for him. "Let's go on another ride! The roller-coaster was so fun! And there's so many other ones we haven't tried yet!"

He dutifully avoided that pleading blue-eyed gaze, knowing it could damn well work it's magic and pull a gruff agreement out of him before he knew what he was doing. Sometimes he vaguely wondered if she was entirely aware of that, as well. It would certainly explain why she made that expression _every time_ she wanted something. ...Hell, that was the reason he was involved in this nonsense to begin with. He needed to find some kind of counterattack or impenetrable shield to ward off against that nasty little trick of hers.

"Fakiiiiir, you're ignoring me, aren't you?" The pout in her voice was apparent. "Are you mad about ring toss booth?"

"No." Silly, pointless games. It didn't matter if he was good at them or not.

"Was it the roller-coaster then?" she questioned further, giving his arm another tug.

The ex-knight tried to fight down the bile that threatened to climb up his throat at the thought of that..._thing_. How could anyone enjoy themselves while riding some crazy sled on wheels that twisted and turned and seemed to have the sole purpose of causing your stomach high levels of discomfort? "...No," he affirmed the negative again, though his tone was less sure this time.

Ahiru paused for a moment, as if deliberating something, and then sighed aloud. "I wanted to come here and have fun with you, but you're not enjoying yourself at all."

At that, he turned to face her, facial features clearly incredulous. "You expected me to have _fun_ in a place like _**this**_?" He gestured around them at all of the little things that had been getting on his nerves since they arrived. "This is the most _idiotic_ gathering of _idiots_ I have ever been coerced into being a part of." He then crossed his arms and frowned down at her, as if daring the shorter girl to say otherwise.

Ahiru kicked a stray pebble on the ground, her face reflecting a bit of guilt as she ventured, "Well... it sounded like it would be a lot of fun and the carnival was only going to be here in Kinkan for a few days, and we've both never been to one..." She trailed off, digging her shoe into the dirt in a somewhat timid manner. "I thought maybe you'd relax a little after awhile and then we would both have a good time together."

The apologetic look she flashed up to him _almost_ made him regret his harsh tone a little - why couldn't she just stop using that sneaky little maneuver on him? If she kept that up, his resolve would surely--_No_, he couldn't let himself be defeated by those big blue eyes. _Not again_. "I'm sure you know very well that I would not remotely desire any part of such a--"

"HEY THERE, KIDDIES!"

"_**QUA**_--!?"

As Ahiru struggled to hold in the word that threatened to release upon her surprise, Fakir whirled around to glare at the shouting intruder. However, he was rendered speechless for a moment as his sight was greeted with what he believed to be the _ugliest_ clown he had ever seen - not that he thought _any_ of them were tolerable as far as appearances went, but this one certainly left them in the dust. "What do you want?" he inquired icily as he regained his composure, face set into it's trademark scowl and lips upturned in a snarl.

Judging by the clown's return expression of utter glee, Fakir's clearly-hostile expression wasn't being taken seriously in the slightest. "Hey! That's a great impersonation of a rabid dog! You should join the circus! I'm sure there's someone talented enough out there to tame even a beast like you! Hahaha!"

..._Rabid dog_!? _**Beast**_?! If Fakir had been merely displeased before, he was running on a very short fuse now. Did this guy really think he was _funny_? "I suggest you leave. _Now_," the ex-knight stated coldly, his tone giving the impression that it was more of a demand than a suggestion. "Go and bother someone else."

Whether aware of Fakir's obvious glare and warning or not, the oddly-dressed man leaned in closer to him, hooking a thumb back toward the wide-eyed duck-girl (who seemed strangely stunned into silence after her initial outburst). "You'd better be careful with this one, mister. She's _QUACKERS_!" And the clown laughed loudly at his own joke, clapping Fakir hard on the shoulder and causing the boy's eyes to widen in disgust as he retracted from the man almost violently. Why must he be surrounded - and unwillingly touched - by idiots? Thank god stupidity wasn't _contagious_.

Ignoring the young man's obvious lack of a sense of humor, the painted carnival worker ducked around behind his form, holding a gloved hand out to the small girl that was still seeking refuge behind him, eyes wide in fright. "Hey girlie! No hard feelings, right? I'm only teasin'!"

Ahiru looked at that hand as though it was going to bite her, unconsciously gripping the back of Fakir's shirt with one tight set of fingers. "Aww, come on! I'm not going to hurt you! Or scare you! I swear!" The clown man prodded, easing his white-encased hand even closer. "You don't have to be afraid of Benny the Clown! He's everyone's friend!"

She kept staring at that hand intently, contemplating the carnival employee's proposal. And finally, the redhead hesitantly reached her right hand out to meet his, accepting the invitation in a slow and careful manner that was unlike her usual welcoming attitude.

And no sooner had her own hand come in contact with the clown's than she felt a severe shock as a buzzing noise erupted from the area of contact. "HAHAHA! GOTCHA!" The face-painted man laughed jovially as Ahiru fell backward onto the ground with a screech, cradling her hand as if it had been burned.

And with that, Fakir's short fuse was blown off with the force of a volcano erupting. He pivoted around with the speed and grace of a practiced dancer, smacking the clown's offending hand away harshly and not even attempting to hold back his anger as he kicked the man roughly in the shin - which was rewarded with a choked laugh that turned into a yelp of pain. "Let that bloody teach you not to _lie_ to young girls," the livid young man spoke with venom, hauling the fallen redhead up by her arm and quickly dragging her away before the over-weight joker could attempt anything else.

The clown's distant calls of claimed mistreatment and misunderstanding were ignored without a second thought.

--

"That guy was scary," the duck-girl commented with a shudder once they were far enough away from Benny.

Unconsciously giving her hand a squeeze in some small form of comfort, the knight-turned-writer led them further from the scene. "Well he's gone now," he supplied simply, mentally adding that if they ran across that badly-dressed idiot again, he would do a hell of a lot more than just kick him. Perhaps he'd give him a _real_ reason to wear that ridiculous red plastic nose.

"Yeah..." Ahiru drawled as her shoulders drooped, the usually-energetic girl seemingly in lower spirits due to unexpected meeting with the clown. "I hope he doesn't come back."

Glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye and noting her uncomfortable expression, Fakir decided that she needed a distraction. Somehow he wasn't alright with her acting this way, considering how happy she had been before. And even if it would be easier to coax her to leave the carnival in this state... it bothered him. The dark-haired boy shoved his free hand into his pocket, a scowl marring his features. He could only think of one method to divert her attention, currently - one that didn't involve that freakishly fast roller-coaster (which he silently resigned NOT to agree to riding again, no matter _how_ upset she became). "I'll give that stupid game another go."

She blinked, looking up to stare at him in something akin to a mixture of astonishment and confusion. "Huh?"

"...You want that...stuffed animal, right? The little duck one?" Avoid her eyes. Right. And that heat that seemed to set his cheeks on fire due to her gaze wasn't possibly anything to be worried about, either. It had to be the summer day's heat affecting him and making his face feel unusually warm. That's all. "It's a perfect match for you, with that vacant expression."

There was an awkward pause then, as if he thought his intended insult might not hold enough water. But with that annoying heat rush from the..._weather_, he couldn't seem to think of something more solid. " ...If you still want it, that is." The last part was added very hastily.

Ahiru continued to stare at him with the same expression of shock that seemed glued to her features, almost as though she expected him to grow a second head or something. However, the surprise quickly melted away, a wide grin replacing it and lighting up her features. "You'll get it for me? Really?"

He breathed an inward sigh of relief at the return of her cheerful demeanor, though his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her bright smile. A brisk nod was all he managed in reply, quickly turning his green eyes straight ahead and leading them toward intended booth.

She walked alongside him, hand safely nestled in his and her face still aglow with a smile. "Thank you, Fakir."

"Hn," he grunted in a nonchalant manner as he glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. "Don't go thinking there's any special meaning to it."

The redhead merely grinned wider, squeezing his hand. Fakir hurriedly looked away from her cheerful features again, studying the little stand as they drew closer to it. He hated that idiotic ring toss game with a passion. Their earlier encounter with the booth had left him just about ready to start chucking those little colored circular rings _at_ the bottles after failing numerous attempts to get the damn things over them.

But... as long as she kept smiling, a little sacrifice of pride would be worth it.

--

AN: This, like the last chapter, was written on a prompt given to me on LJ for a meme. The prompt (which was 'carnival and clowns') was given to me by Escalove from LJ and this is what it turned into. As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun writing this one. I'm not at all fond of clowns, and neither was the person who requested this prompt so... Benny got what was coming to him.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	14. New Beginning

AN: Hey, folks. I kind of wrote this in attempt to take a suggestion for my writing - which was to work on a challenge or something of the sort. I was considering giving up writing fanfiction altogether (because I haven't been happy with anything that I've written in quite some time), but a few friends on LJ helped keep me afloat and give me hope that I could still write (even if my mind is used to RP formats). So, I'm going to try. I haven't updated this challenge in awhile, but I hope you enjoy this installment.

Fic Summary: The story was over. And reality wasn't nearly as forgiving.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters do not belong to me and I am making no profit with this work of fiction.

-------------------

101 Kisses - Theme #83: _Pillar of Strength_

_-----_

**New Beginning**

-------------------

It was going to be a _wonderful_ day.

Ahiru could feel it to the very tips of her toes. And the tiny appendages almost seemed to tingle with that thought as she grinned lop-sidedly down at them.

_Her first full day as a girl again_. The redhead was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. She would be able to dance! She would get to see her friends! She could talk, and smile, and laugh and...

It hadn't occurred to her until now just how many things she had missed. Her routine as a duck was normal and she had been content with it. Or so she had insisted to herself. Because she couldn't be selfish. Fakir kept his promise - and he had visited her every single day without fail. There was no reason for her to be unhappy.

But she still felt bad now that her humanity was unexpectedly returned. After all, Fakir told her that this wasn't his doing - he had not written a thing about her. And he seemed really worried about it. She supposed she should be, too, especially after what they had gone through with Drosselmeyer's story.

And yet here she was grinning with barely contained enthusiasm for everything that awaited her. Another stab of guilt relentlessly poked inside of her heart at that thought, but she stubbornly suppressed it. If she was happy... and nothing strange happened... then Fakir would be all right with it too, wouldn't he?

Yeah! She just had to prove that there was nothing dangerous or weird going on and then everything would be fine!

With that thought, she leaned over the edge of her familiar dorm room bunk and hopped off the edge, spreading her arms like she could _fly_---

Only to have her left foot slip when she reached the floor, sending the petite girl flailing in a mess of awkward limbs until she landed none-too-gently on her back, head hitting the wood with an audible thunk.

"Owwww..." the duck-girl moaned as she rubbed her the back of her head with a set of scratching fingers. "Okay so maybe that wasn't a good idea..."

Lifting back up to her feet, she straightened her nightgown and then turned her gaze toward the window. A smile curled onto her lips as she skipped over to it, throwing the panes open with a cheerful, "Good morning!"

Met by silence, she blinked in confusion, searching for bird friends. Not a single chirp of greeting or nearby echo of a song reached her ears. Ahiru frowned - and then it dawned on her. Of course the birds weren't going to be here! How silly could she be? It had been a long time since she stayed here and fed them. Naturally they wouldn't hang around if there was no one there to feed them.

And yet Ahiru still felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment.

"No, no, no!" she chided herself instantly, shaking her head frantically back and forth with unnecessary force. "It's a great day! Nothing can change that!"

Pumping a fist into the air, she nodded with a new determination.

Absolutely _nothing_ could ruin this day for her! It was a new beginning!

---------------------------------

By the end of the end of the day, Ahiru could not scrounge up any more smiles or even a passing positive thought. And she was exhausted from trying.

Too put it bluntly, the entire span of events from sunrise to sunset had been a disaster. Not one single thing had gone right. Or even kind of right. Or even a_ little _right.

First she had managed to trip on her way to class. That was to be expected with her clumsiness, she supposed, but somehow her books and ballet shoes had managed to slip from the clutch under her arm and fly an impressive ten feet in the air before landing directly into the sculpted fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Her face had kissed the ground, clothes became covered in grass and dirt stains, and still she plastered a smile on her lips, ignoring the staring onlookers as she lifted herself up with a sheepish laugh and retrieved her water-logged possessions.

She assured herself that it would be fine if she explained to the teacher what happened. But again, the redhead couldn't have been more mistaken. Not only had the instructor (and old, strict-looking woman who was nothing like her former ballet teacher) lectured her excessively about taking care of school property, but she had been excused from the class entirely for the day and sent to the main office to get herself new books and replace her shoes. Which, upon explaining herself to the administration, she was asked to _pay_ for. And couldn't. And she tried to explain that she didn't have parents or a guardian - but unlike how easy-going everyone had been during the story, all she received now were skeptical looks and creased brows with condescending frowns. They interrogated her, and were more than shocked to hear that she had simply walked into a dorm room and slept there. Nor were they happy that she had proceeded to show up for classes without being properly registered. They threatened to send her to an orphanage - and she had been so frightened of the thought of leaving Kinkan that she turned and ran out the door, ignoring the voices that called after her.

It was nothing like she remembered. Everyone was so strict and proper and following rules she never heard about before! Fakir had given her the old school uniform, and her books, and her ballet slippers. She thought that was all that she needed. It was all she needed before.

Ahiru had kept running until she came to a secluded area between two of the Academy's buildings, as far from the offices as she could get without actually leaving the grounds. And it was there that she perked up again upon spotting something very familiar. Two girls walked right by, one with blonde hair in pigtails and the other with her pink hair pinned up into a bun. They were talking animatedly with one another and the redhead recognized them instantly.

Pique and Lilie!

Stumbling forward, she nearly called out to them---words that caught in her throat when the two girls turned their attention to her. There was no recognition in their eyes, like she had expected. And they were actually kind of looking at her...unpleasantly.

Forcing herself not to be deterred, Ahiru flashed her brightest smile. "Um--hi! I'm Ahiru! I guess you could say I'm new--"

Lilie then interrupted in a burst of a sudden fit of giggles, startling Ahiru with the noise, and turned to eagerly whisper into Pique's ear. But the words were easily distinguishable through her shrill voice as her gleeful green gaze riveted on the roughed-up redhead - almost as if she _wanted_ her to hear them.

"_Look, Pique! Look! Her clothes and her hair... she must be some desperate little poor girl who stole a uniform so she could pretend to be like us! Isn't it tragic?! Just imagine what will happen when she gets caught!_"

Ahiru had colored in embarrassment. She wanted to protest. She wanted to ask if it was a joke. But all she managed to do was bite her trembling lip as she turned tail and ran away from them without looking back. And she kept on running until she was completely out of breath, until she couldn't move her legs any longer, until she couldn't hear that laughter ringing through her head...

This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! Why did the school change? Why did her friends forget her?

The duck-girl had felt tears well up in her eyes, but refused to let them fall. It just had to be a misunderstanding, right? After everything got worked out, it would be perfectly fine. She'd get properly registered and figure things out and...

_Fakir_. That's who she needed to see! He would know what to do. He would know how to handle this. And... he still remembered who she was. He accepted her, even when she was just a duck.

Spirits renewed, Ahiru had set out on her new mission: finding Fakir.

And it hadn't taken long. His dark-haired and constantly-frowning self rounded the corner of the writing division's building, making a beeline in the direction of the library. Ahiru's blue eyes had lit up with delight at the sight of him, her feet floundering over the grass of the massive courtyard as she rushed to catch up to him.

"Fakir!" she had called, waving one hand in the air and smiling broadly. "Fakir! Wait up! I need to talk to you!"

He had stiffened and paused mid-step, taking only one brief glance back at her before he tore his eyes away, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and quickened his pace toward the library without a word.

Ahiru had still been standing there frozen in shock even after the doors had closed behind him.

Somehow Fakir's casual dismissal of her was more painful than anything else had been. She had been so sure that she could count on him no matter what. And as if the crush the last of her hope, he had turned away from her.

And now, as the last of the fading sunlight sunk out of sight, she found herself aimlessly walking through the town, eyes lowered down to her feet. There was nowhere she could go. She wasn't allowed in the dorms, and she couldn't bring herself to try to face Fakir again, either.

Nowhere she belonged. Not as a human girl.

"Hey, you! Watch out!" Startled by the angry voice, Ahiru yelped and jumped out of the way just as a cart full of heavy flour sacks came barreling by her. The plump, middle-aged man pushing it stalled just long enough to send her a glower. "Yer gonna get run over if ya keep dazing off in da middle of da street like that!"

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked.

And for the third time that day, she sprinted off again. But unlike before, this time she knew where she was headed.

Her pumping legs carried her all the way to lake on the outskirts of town - the place she had lived for many months as a duck after the story ended. Twilight glistened over its calm waters, lapping gently up against the little grassy cliff beside it. Panting from her wild dash, Ahiru dropped right down to her knees by the bank. Her reflection greeted her from waters below, showing her the image of a redheaded girl with a freckled face, and large blue irises filled to the brim with unshed tears.

_I want to be a duck again. That's the real me. That's the __**only**__ me._

The surface of the water rippled with the single droplet that fell from her chin, blurring out the young girl's sorrowful reflection.

Was this her punishment for being selfish? For taking what she had before for granted?

"I'm such and idiot..." she whispered aloud, fingers clenching into the ground.

"Yes, you are."

The unexpected voice from behind nearly sent her face-first down into the water in surprise. Ahiru quickly struggled to regain her balance and prevented the fall, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around. She recognized that voice. Why was he here? She didn't want him to see her like this!

"It's getting dark," he continued despite her lack of response, taking a step closer to her hunched form. "What are you doing out here?"

There was a stretch of silence that followed before she answered almost in monotone, "This is where I belong. I'm just a duck."

A sudden brisk wind blew over the lake and she rocked back on her feet, hands instinctively rising to grasp in a crossed pattern over her arms as she shuddered involuntarily.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she answered immediately, dropping her hands back to the ground.

There was a rustling noise from just beyond her, followed by a few footfalls upon the grass. And her vision was abruptly blacked out as something landed on her head and covered her eyes.

"Liar. I can hear your teeth chattering. Put that on."

She slowly pulled the heavy cloth down, allowing the thick material to fall around her shoulders. The warmth did feel kind of nice. She unconsciously snuggled closer into the coat, tugging the sleeves down to drape in front of her. Ahiru thought to thank him, but the words would not fall from her lips.

Another awkward silence ensued, until she heard him sigh and saw his shadow slip in next to hers as he lowered to sit beside her.

"Are you going to stop being a moron and tell me what's wrong?"

That wasn't concern in his voice, she insisted to herself. That was just what she _wanted_ to hear. And everything she had dared to hope for the best in over the course of the day turned out horribly wrong.

"Tell me," he prompted firmly.

She shifted a little to the side, able to feel the weight of his gaze on her as he waited. There was something she needed to ask of him. Whether he turned away or denied her of it or not, he was the only one who could grant her that single guilt-ridden wish in her heart right now. And she had to ask.

Ahiru ducked her head down a little to hide behind the folds of the coat, brushing her fingertips into the blades of grass by her leg. "Fakir," she spoke softly, miraculously keeping her voice steady. "I know you weren't the one who changed me back to a girl, but... do you think you could turn me into a duck again?"

His thick swallow and wide-eyed look of surprise were lost to her. "Is that what you want?"

She chuckled, but the light-hearted mirth normally present within the sound was missing. "Pretty weird, huh? I was so excited this morning and then..." She trailed off and bit her lip, taking a careful breath before continuing. "I guess I realized it wasn't meant to be. You were right about being my true self. I don't belong this way. This isn't a story anymore."

"I'm sorry."

Her head jerked up from the bundle of cloth. "Huh?"

"I avoided you. Deliberately. And even when you said you needed to talk to me, I ignored you."

"Oh." Right. That. But she didn't want him to worry about it. She didn't want to trouble him or make him feel guilty. Asking for a story was enough already. "It was nothing special! Ahaha! You don't need to apologize for that. I was just going to bother you about something silly and I'm sure you had work to do and you were in a hurry to get to the library and--"

She gasped when his fingers took hold of her chin and veered her head to the side to face him directly. "Stop hiding it, Ahiru. Tell me what happened." The words were serious, almost a demand - but the soft luster of concern in the reaches of his green eyes was undeniable.

He _did_ care. She wasn't making it up to make herself feel better. Now that she could see his expression in plain view, the answer was obvious. And knowing that-- seeing it right in front of her -- broke the last few boards holding the flood back. All at once, tears poured in fresh cascades down from her eyes, moistening skin all the way down to the fingers that held her in place.

His expression turned almost horrified and he instantly dropped his hand from her face. "W-What the hell happened? Were you hurt? Why are you--"

"I was scared!" she burst out on a sob, one set of her small fingers burying into the fabric covering his nearest arm as she leaned her damp eyes right into the cloth just above. "E-Everyone was so mean and different and they were going to send me away and Pique and Lilie didn't know me and my books got all wet and I couldn't give them money and they were mad about the dorm and--"

"S-Slow--Slow _down_, moron!" he stammered, near-flailing at the girl sobbing into his arm. "You're not making any sense!"

She sniffled and clutched him tighter. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't listen to you about the story at all. I was just happy and I didn't think about coserquences."

"_Conse_quences," he corrected as he lifted his hands to rest on her shoulders, pushing her back far enough to meet her tear-streamed face. "And I owe you an explanation."

She merely blinked back at him in confusion.

"Look, I..." he turned to look at the water briefly, sighing in deep before he laid his eyes back upon hers. "I lied to you. That story was mine."

Her cerulean eyes broadened at the revelation. "It...It was? But--"

"It was an accident," he stated bitterly. "I didn't mean for it to change you, but somehow it did. And I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. So I avoided you and tried to figure out a way to fix it on my own."

She thought she saw guilt flash through his eyes before he lowered his head, dark hair obscuring her view. Carefully, Ahiru removed her grip from the creases of his shirt and tipped his chin back up. "It made me happy," she said sincerely. "I know I took the things you left me and went to the dorms right away--but that was because I was excited. There was... so much I wanted to see again. And I couldn't wait."

Green eyes widened just a fraction. "You weren't---that wasn't an act?"

"An...an _act_?" she questioned incredulously, tilting her head to the side.

"You were _way_ too cheerful to be normal. And then you ran off. I thought you were trying to hide that you were upset about what happened."

"Oh! Gosh..." she pulled the hand from his face and let it join the other to fidget in her lap. "Is that what it seemed like? I guess I really shouldn't have just taken off like that. But I felt guilty about being happy when you were worried, and..."

She blinked as the warmth of one larger hand secured down upon both of hers. "You still want me to write, don't you? To turn you back?"

"I..." Ahiru felt a wetness collect along the edges of her dried eyes again. If he was being honest now... she had better be honest with him, too. "I... I don't. I want to be a girl. But... _can_ I be a girl?" Her watery gaze pleaded silently, hands tensing under his grip. "Are we breaking rules? Is it wrong? I don't want to be a burden to you!"

He silenced her with a single finger to her lips. "You're not a burden to me, idiot."

She wriggled one hand out from his and pulled the digit away from her mouth, protesting, "But--!"

"Have you forgotten what I promised you?"

It was voiced softly, barely a whisper, but the duck-girl stilled instantly from the rare tender look in his eyes and gave a tiny shake of her head. There was no way she could ever forget those words.

"This won't be easy," he spoke slowly, releasing her other hand to curl his calloused fingertips into the flyaway red fringe alongside her face. "You said it yourself - this isn't a story any longer." He paused, moving his hand far enough to allow his thumb to brush underneath her eye, removing the trace of liquid that had built up there. "But you're not alone in this reality, either."

Ahiru closed her eyes, reaching both sets of her own fingers to hold his hand to her face. "Thank you," she murmured quietly.

_I'm weak. But Fakir makes the weak me stronger. Always._

-----------------

AN: Sap sap sap. And some angst. I know. I can't help it. I needed it. And it's been a long time since I wrote anything like this.

And um... don't kill me, Pique and Lilie fans! I'm sure they'll warm up to Ahiru again. I've just seen a lot of fics where it was instant recognition or warmth, and I thought I would change that a little to show the difference between Ahiru's views of fantasy as opposed to a cold reality she didn't understand.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you for reading.


	15. Arise, Fair Sun

**A/N**: ...Been a long while since I updated this one, huh? Well, I had a stroke of inspiration at around three in the morning and I decided that I didn't want to let it go to waste on the chance that I might sleep and not feel as motivated/inspired when I woke up. So I went ahead and wrote it out in one sitting.

This isn't very fleshed-out, I'm afraid. I did some editing after writing it, of course, but I didn't go into a lot of extreme details in things - I just wanted the reader to get the main concept and for the theme to really come out. That was my intention, anyway.

Hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer**: Princess Tutu and all of its characters do not belong to me. They belong to the wonderful Itoh Ikuko and HAL Films.

* * *

101 Kisses - Theme #11: _The Endless And Faraway Sky_

**Arise, Fair Sun**

* * *

Whenever Fakir was worried that he had made the wrong decision, or his doubts weighed so heavily on him that he felt like he could collapse into bottomless uncertainty and fear, he turned his eyes to her.

Ahiru was the very picture of life. Her smile alone shone as brightly as the sun - and to him, who had lived so long in the dark and the shadows, he did not consider that to be an exaggeration. Fakir could not help but feel a warmth inside just from looking at her. She could be simply standing there, running around like a moron, singing terribly off-key, flapping her arms around in a panic... it didn't matter - she was still filled to the brim with the very essence of life.

It hadn't always been that way, after the story's end. Things were peaceful and tranquil in the town of Kinkan and beyond, but there was almost a staleness left behind once the magic had dispersed. There was a spark missing. That was the only way the writer could think of to put it.

Most of all, he noticed its lack in _her_.

She was not visibly upset; far be it for him to say something like that. She appeared to be content to float on the lake and enjoy the simple pleasures of being a duck. And he was content just keep his promise and to watch over her from his chair on the dock.

He wasn't sure when the first time was that an errant, unsure thought crossed his mind amidst that calm and tranquil atmosphere.

'_Is this really happiness?_'

Of course it was, he had assured himself with a vehement scoff, as if the thought shouldn't have ever dared itself into existence within his head. Everything was as meant to be and there were no words wrapped around their lives like vices or chains that could not be removed. This was a thousand times better than worrying about being sliced in two or vanishing into thin air.

Where would such a terrible thought even come from?

Yet... Fakir knew the answer to that. The answer came in form of a little duck who did not dance, who did not quack excitedly, who cast melancholy glances toward the Academy when she thought he wasn't looking, and who had shut herself up inside of her little duck body and locked up tight.

It was almost ironic, in a way. How many times had he closed in on himself and put forward the mask of confidence and even arrogance, when he was really nothing but afraid? He hid himself in such a way that now he could recognize when the once-open Ahiru shut her doors in the same way.

There was a difference, though - a very obvious one: Ahiru was not a coward. Her reasons for wearing her mask were for the sake of not worrying or concerning others - in this case, himself. She wasn't very good at being stealthy or subtle, however. As hard as she tried to be discreet, her behavior spoke very clearly to Fakir.

And the once-knight couldn't sit back and do nothing - not anymore. Perhaps he would have in the past. Perhaps he would have shoved his personal feelings aside and stubbornly insisted that things were fine this way and that no change was needed. This must have been what was _best _for them both, he would have convinced himself. Change brought pain and more uncertainty and birthed fear anew in his veins. It was a useless thing.

That was a mistake he did not intend on making again. If not for change, how could Fate be defied? If not for change, how could she have reached his heart at all?

Ahiru gave him hope. She gave him many things, but hope was the one thing that truly kept fear at bay.

And now, it beckoned him to face the facts: This is not the way her story had to be.

It was becoming more and more painfully obvious to him that she was not truly happy to remain as a duck. She did not try to befriend other birds or even venture further out into the lake. He had even lost her in the marketplace one spring day and found her rather tellingly close to the pizzeria where he swore he spotted two rather familiar females that once flanked her at the Academy.

And some months after that, when he had fallen ill in winter, she had fretted over him relentlessly in her own duck way, and yet been unable to help Charon tend to him, unable to do anything but sit and watch and worry. Her eyes spoke to him what her lack of words could not. Though he'd patted her and rubbed his fingers just beneath her feathered chin while consoling her with hoarse, soft words, they did nothing to reassure her. The way she had fluttered down off of his bed with that dejected look only made that birth of uncertainty turn into an aching pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his sickness.

Ahiru felt useless - another feeling he knew and recognized all too well.

That had been the final straw for Fakir. Her light was a brightness that she bared openly, and it had dimmed so far that she hadn't even tried to hide it any longer. He couldn't watch that sunshine become clouded over into gray and gloomy skies. He couldn't let this happen to _her_.

And so, he'd done it. He still isn't certain of just _how_ he did, as that night had come after so many frustrations and failures, to the point that he had spilled his tears - as well as his heart - into the paper, but his own written words brought her back into humanity by some miraculous chance.

As if re-birthed with the girl herself, that once-dimming sun practically _glowed_ with a fierce intensity from every pore in her body. It was like she had never been closed or fading at all.

That is why Fakir only had to look, to glance in her direction, and he instantly remembered that no matter what darkened the path, no matter what dreadful thoughts tried to creep into his conscience about what he had done, no matter how he had gone against the current of reality itself...

_It was worth it_. Her light, her hope, her entire self, was boundless and it was something that she shared with the world around her. Fakir would have sworn that the town itself became more alive when she returned with her head of ridiculously bright red hair and smiles for everyone. The baker would laugh with fond amusement when she tripped over herself to try his new bread. The widow who owned the diner on the far side of town waved from the deck whenever they walked by. The students at the Academy welcomed her back as though she'd never left.

She gave a little light to the hearts of every person she met.

And if the darkness came, if problems arose, they would work it out - not he, but _they_. Fakir believed in her and in the hope she carried with her and shared with him by extension - he had faith in their ability to overcome all obstacles.

He had been mistaken before, when he spoke to her in the deep waters of Despair. The future was not something to be shaped and constricted into a set form and path. The future was ahead of them and as wide as the open sky above. And Ahiru's wings would carry her. Whether she was in the form of a duck, a girl, or Princess Tutu, she soared in a way that no other bird could match.

Ahiru flew with the wings of her heart. And as long as he stayed by her side, Fakir felt that he too, could fly. All he had to do was spread his own wings and join her.

There was good in the world. There was kindness. There were smiles. There was simply too much to let fear keep your feet glued to the ground. And most of all, for Fakir, there was a girl with endless blue eyes as wide and bright as the sky who brought true light into his once-dismal life.

Her happiness was _his_ happiness.

* * *

**A/N**: And that's it! This one was definitely meant to be an uplifting littl fic, so I hope it it achieved that to some extent! I really enjoyed writing it, despite staying up ridiculously late to do so.

**And I have a special request (Or perhaps it's more like a mission!). To everyone reading this**: We all have a light inside of us, I believe. Today (whatever day you are reading this), make it a priority to share your light with someone else. Anyone. A family member, a friend, a loved one, or even a stranger - give them a kind word, tell them how much they mean to you, anything to shed just a little bit more light into their world. In this day and age, I think everyone could use that. Let's all be a part of sharing it. (And if you have a story regarding this request, by all means, please share it!)

I hope you all have a wonderful day.

Thank you for reading!


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